The morning of my wedding, I noticed something odd about my soon-to-be stepdaughter. Little Sophie, usually so particular about her outfits, insisted on wearing a bright orange beanie with her flower girl dress. “It’s special,” she declared, patting the lumpy knit cap with determination.
During our first dance as husband and wife, Sophie tugged at my dress. In her small hands was a clumsily wrapped box. “This is for my new mommy,” she announced to the entire reception. Inside lay a thick braid of chestnut hair – Sophie’s own waist-length locks, now neatly cut.
“I asked Daddy to take me to the salon,” she explained as I trembled holding her gift. “The lady said this can make a wig for you.” My hands flew to my own thinning hair, a source of shame since college. Sophie then removed her beanie to reveal a pixie cut. “Now we match!”
That braid now forms the centerpiece of our nonprofit, “Sophie’s Locks,” which provides custom wigs to women with alopecia. But no wig could ever compare to the love woven into that first precious gift from my daughter.
