Locks of Love

So my hair is looking pretty good these days--as it is pretty much all days since the days when I was more head than hair, to the days of my miniature missionary cut, to the days of my part-line spike 'do, to the days of my overly-gelled, Tony Hawk wannabe, reverse-halfpipe 'do, to the days of my basketball flat top, to the other days of of my basketball flat top with bic'ed sides and then floating sideburns, to the days of my shaved head except for a short patch on top of my head, to the days of my George Clooney caesar cut, to the days of my actual-sized missionary cut, to the days of my modernized bowl cut, to the days of my hair being held down by the iron-fisted-with-razor- sharp-scissors Honor Code Office, to the days where I re-introduced Magnum P.I. wings to the world, to the days of my first fauxhawk, to the days of my first tri-colored mohawk, to the days of my early Beatles shag, and right on to my Jesus hair period. While I only get mistaken for Jesus these days by strange, afro'ed, fifteen year old lifeguards at Ragin' Waters, it's never too late to document any phase of hair growth (as evidenced by the envelopes of hair that my mom still has from my first three haircuts--even then she knew that my hair was destined for greatness).
One of these heads of hair belongs to me and the other belongs to my aunt, can you guess which is which?