Yesterday’s “crazy hair day” brought back some pleasant and not-so pleasant memories, and prompted several discussions of tortures we have endured over the years for the sake of our “hairdo”. Up, down, long, short, curly, straight, styled, wild, red, brown, black, blond, or in between- one theme unites us as women: whatever nature endowed us with, we want the opposite! LOL I remember spending hours straightening my hair. My best friend in high school tried alternately rolling hers on juice cans or ironing it straight. It resisted both. My mother got a perm every six months because she wanted curlier hair. My aunt dyed her brown hair blond. My friend died her blond hair black. We’re never happy.
The tortures began very early. Mother often pulled my ponytail up too high or too tight and I spent the day tugging at it or rubbing it, trying not to get in trouble for taking it down. Letting my hair hang in my face was a “no-no” for two reasons. First of all, it got unruly and looked messy. Second, I was a hair sucker. Yep, held on to a clump of hair and sucked on it, despite numerous admonishments to do otherwise. It was my comfort for about six years. Okay, eight…but don’t tell.
Then there were the various methods of achieving curly hair! Mom tied my hair in rags for a while and I slept on the lumpy knots. Then she tried sponge rollers, hard plastic rollers, snap rollers, brush rollers, and bobby-pin curls. I’m not sure I ever looked as perfectly coifed as she had hoped. Perhaps the fault wasn’t with her styling, but with my tomboy habits of climbing trees and playing in the mud.
My father had a few opinions about hair and I thought one year that my aunt was going to be removed from the family tree for allowing me to get my hair cut off while in her care. Her beautician and I thought it was an excellent idea. My father seemed to think it was a crime! The year it took to grow out to an acceptable length was the longest year of my life. Ironic that years later I had it cut even shorter, but by then I was married and living far enough away so that he never saw it.
During my young adult years I tried a variety of hairstyles and colors. I followed trends and made an attempt to look like everyone else in my peer group. However, moving to Oklahoma forced my ultimate surrender to the natural curls that God gave me. The wind and humidity here are just too powerful to battle on a daily basis. So I have gradually developed my current hairstyling routine: wash, dry, brush gently, and forget about it!