Hair Today…
Wed., June 11, 09:49 AM
I never had much hair. According to my parents – and certain snapshots – I was bald until I was two, with large protruding ears. My dad and his family had thick curly hair; I didn’t inherit it. My mother had thin limp hair, and so do I. On the other hand, my mother’s hair took permanents easily – so it could be improved – and she and her sisters were prematurely gray. The gray hair was so pretty, and it looked wonderful with blue or green… I didn’t inherit that. Like my dad, I have comparatively little gray hair even now. Go figure.
Heredity being what it is, U.D. has the same thick curly hair my dad – and Husband – have. M.D.’s hair is fine, but thick and luxuriant. Even Son has better hair than I.
I can remember standing patiently – an acquiescent child – while my mother curled my hair around her finger. (Shirley Temple curls were still in fashion, and she could make my hair imitate it long enough for a picture – maybe.) I suffered the tortures of Tonette, the home permanent for children, with disastrous results.
As she did with my wardrobe, my mother controlled my hair. Eventually I learned to use curlers, and mother insisted that I keep my hair short and try the occasional permanent. When I finally explained that even with a perm I still had to set my hair every night to maintain the styling, she said, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have your hair permed.” Hello?
While I was in college, I let my hair grow long because I was going out with a guy who liked long hair, and I hacked it off myself when I told him where he could go. There were girls in our dorm who knew how to cut hair, but they didn’t want to risk cutting shoulder length hair really short.
Eventually, when I went home, I had it evened off and went back to the curlers, vowing never again to wear it short (famous last words). We were into the era of “big hair,” and I learned to do that too, within the constraints of my weak tresses. Oh, yes, I could tease my hair into a giant rat’s nest and spray it heavily, and it would look nice all day. However, I had to untangle it before I went to bed; otherwise it would deflate, still teased, and leave a worse mess for the morning. I was willing to go through these shenanigans right up until I got married. And then I kept my hair long but, since I wasn’t working, I didn’t feel the need to spend the time every day. I put it up for special occasions.
It was no problem, until my second child was about six months old. This lovely baby was ready to sit up, so she pulled herself up with the first available handle – the hair on my shoulders. And so I cut it short, doing it myself because I had no way to get to a hairdresser – just supposing there was one where I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.
[I had gotten into the habit of going to my dad’s barber because I disliked the atmosphere in beauty salons. “Mr. Len is ready for you now.” I could walk through town and identify all the women who went to Mr. Len – by the curls on their foreheads.]
The last time I had my hair cut in a beauty salon was when my sister got married – we had professional haircuts and manicures. A retired hairdresser I knew set my hair that weekend, and I managed the comb-out by myself. By that time I also had to take my little boy to the barber, and that barber has been cutting my hair ever since.
A couple of years ago, I injured my shoulder so that lifting my arm hurt, and I asked the barber to cut my hair really short. (I’m sure my mother would be thrilled.) I like this: run wet hands through my hair, and I’m done. When it gets a little longer, I’ll put in a few curlers with some kind of extra-hold mousse, but I’ll get back to the barber as soon as I can.
That’s what this is all about. I can only go on a Friday because all barbers in Connecticut are closed on Wednesdays. And I haven’t had a free Friday. I don’t know if I’ll get there this week either. I can’t stand this – the wispy gray hair seems to grow faster, and I don’t even look good enough to sit in this crummy office. I’d have the barber clip it real close – except there are still those ears! Auntie-Mari, I need you.
