What Happened to Your Hair?

DISCLAIMER: Before I begin my sad story, please understand I mean my well-intentioned mother no harm. She did what she thought was best at the time. Little did she know I would be scarred for life. However, I don't blame her for any issues I have with curlers, bobby pins, or hairspray. I realize now there is life before, during and even after a bad hair day.

Is it just me or does everyone have a school picture that they wish had never been shot? Am I the only one that looks at the picture now and screams inside Why didn't they just shoot me instead???

It was the beginning of my second year of grade school when mama got the notion to take me to her beautician for a perm. I was a little nervous about the whole thing but my mama was an awful pretty woman so I trusted her instincts.

After my hair was fully processed and permed, we all took a gander at the finished product. I do not exaggerate when I tell you I wanted to weep. My fine blond hair was fried and curled kind of like those curly fries you get at the fast food restaurant but at least with those you get what you pay for. I wanted Mama to get a refund. I felt like a curse- a walking and but, no, not-talking curse. I couldn't say a word without choking up. In my silence all I could think about was starting a new school year with that head of hair.

It was endless torture. Every night Mama rolled my hair with pink foam rollers. And in the morning I would stand at attention in front of the bathroom mirror while she worked her "magic" on my head. She was not above teasing, pulling, prodding, and spraying so much hairspray on my tiny head that I thought I would die from lack of pure oxygen. Not one to be deterred, she would add insult to injury by strategically placing a color-coordinated bow smack-dab in the middle of my bouffant. (Much thanks to my hairstylist, Christy Berry, or I would have never known how to spell that word!) Pleased with her creation and unaware of my despair, she looked at her baby girl, smiled and said, "Now don't you look purty!" I tried to smile. Honestly, I did.

Can you imagine me with that hair at recess? First of all, everyone knows you can't trust just anyone at the other end of a seesaw. It's a case of whiplash waiting to happen, I tell you! I think that was where I always lost my hair bows.

And then there was the merry-go-round. Did you ever have one of those moments when you saw your life flash before your very eyes when some mean boy (or girl) would send that thing spinning as fast as God would give him (or her) the strength and then wouldn't stop for no thing or no body. (It was at this point I would promptly change my mind and give the devil credit for his (or her) strength.) Never mind Susie just tossed her PB&J or that Johnny's head is caught between the bars and his legs are flying parallel to the ground! I used to hate that. I feel resentment rising up in me as I type...let's move on.

Okay, let's talk about the monkey bars for a moment. Remember that picture of my bouffant hairdo (or should I say hair don't?) while we reminisce about all the fun that was to be had on the monkey bars. After the blisters formed, popped, bled and healed to form callouses, there were all sorts of ways to show off on the bars- swinging upside down hanging by the legs, climbing on top, or if you were afraid of heights like I was (and still am-I start to gag!), crawling on top, or just standing in line to get your turn to grab one bar after another until you finally made it to the other end victoriously...unless you lost your grip and fell and then, well, you were humiliated until you got up and at it again, this time skipping bars to prove your athleticism (only I didn't know that's what you called it at the time. I detest myself when I act like a show-off!)

Yes, there was a wonderful plethora of fun activities to be had on our elementary school playground. And there is never enough time to tell of all the foot races, games of tag, hopscotch, and so on.

At that grade level we got two, count them, two recesses. A short one in the morning and a longer one after lunch. Do you recall the point of why I am telling you all of this? Would you look at the picture again? Now, imagine what I looked like when I stepped back in front of that same bathroom mirror after school. Not a pretty sight, people. Ain't no child in the world cute enough to pull something like that off! I made the bride of Frankenstein look like a beauty queen! And this was a daily thing until that glorious day when the curls fell flat. The only bright spot I can find in this period of my life is that the perm didn't last long. My hair was very fine so the curls were short lived.

So one might think a mother would just let it go at that point, right? Oh, no! We moved on to the bobby pin curls. What this required was sitting patient and still while Mama took one thin strand of hair at the time, sprayed it with water, rolled it up into a tiny little curl, and then crisscrossed bobby pins over it to hold it all in place. But to be honest with you, I liked the bobby pin look the best. It worked for me. The only problem with that was I didn't like spending my time getting cute when I wanted to be outside getting dirty!

Well, I'm done now and I feel a whole heap of a lot better. What about you? Got any hairdo or hairdon't tales to tell? Or was it something else your mama or daddy made you endure for the sake of looking sporty? Be nice now. Remember we're to honor our mamas and our papas.

Looking forward to reading your comments. You know this can be rather therapeutic when expressed appropriately. I do hope I've been appropriate. If not, please tell me. I've got this thing about offending people. It makes me feel like I'm on top of the monkey bars...excuse me...I'm starting to gag here...