Story Weekend: Hair
I can’t believe we haven’t had hair as a Story Weekend topic yet. (Isn’t this a stunner of a photograph? That’s me, in my dreams). Whether “hair” makes you think of childhood perms, fright wigs, your grandma’s snow-white bun or the broadway musical, tell us about it!
If you’re new to Story Weekend, here’s how it works: I pick a theme and you share something from your life that relates to that theme, however you interpret it. Thanks to all of you who’ve been contributing. As always, there are a few “rules”:
▪ The story must be true.
▪ Try to keep it under 100 words. Embrace the challenge! That’s about six or seven lines in the comment form. I want others to read your story, and most people tend to skip if it’s too long. I know how tough it is to “write tight” but I hope you’ll accept this as a challenge.
▪ Avoid offensive language.
Have a good weekend, everyone!
“Give me a Head with Hair, Long Beautiful Hair!!” In college, our theater group put on a production of (fully clothed) “HAIR”! All of my castmates and I grew our hair as long as we could… we were as shaggy as can be! I have SUCH fond memories of our rehearsals, dance numbers and music practice… I had my hair CORN ROWED for the production!!! It was itchy and I looked like a zebra (and got larangytis 2 days before opening day) but it’s one of my favorite college memories.
I used to dread class photo day when I was a kid! Why? Because the night before my mother would look critically at my sister and I before announcing we needed our fringes (‘bangs’ is the American term?) trimmed before the photos. Let’s just say Mum wasn’t a professional hair stylist!
To make matters worse I was very short, and would always be positioned in the front row for the photo.
The result was always the same – a class photo with me smack bang in the middle of the front row with a lopsided fringe. Humiliating!
I did I manage to stop these ‘trims’ by the time I was about fifteen, thank goodness!
I feel your pain. I don’t know what my Mom was thinking. She would cut my bangs so so short. I remembered I would cry every time she did it…and yes always before picture day.
When I was 7 my mother (bless her little heart) was upset that all of my baby curls had disappeared. She decided that the best remedy to this situation was to cut off all my hair, in the hopes that when it grew back it would come back curly. At 7 I was horrified by this thought, but because she was the mother, and ultimatly was the one paying for the haircut off went my hair. I cried the entire way home, angry that I know looked like a boy! And of course, my hair never grew back in the beautiful Shirley Temple curls my mother was hoping for.
When I was about 8 or 9 my Mom decided to get me a perm. BAD idea. I wasn’t (still am not!) big into fussing with my hair and anything beyond just brushing was not my thing. The perm, which made me look like the comic character Cathy, ended up turning into one huge massive knot at the back of my head. I didn’t know how to undo it so it just kept growing and growing. Finally at Christmas my cousins felt it and my Aunt drug me down to her basement and put hot oil on it. The final humiliation was her putting me into her dog harness (she is a dog groomer) and raking it out with a dog dematter. I was so glad to be able to finally sleep with my head on a pillow but I am actually still a bit ashamed of that whole debacle. Luckily my Mom stopped giving me perms after that!
I have always wanted beautiful curls. I don’t know how many perms I have had with the same unsuccessful results. Never have I had beautiful ringlets laying in bouncy layers. I have tried and tried. My mother would roll my hair on these rubber rollers that was suppose to give you pretty curls..no…it would frizz out..and then go flat. I can roll my hair on real rollers, heat rollers, steam rollers, curling iron. I can brush it out beautifully, put my clothes on, leave the house and when I get to where I am going …Flat..it is all flat…So now I wear it shorter and I blow it dry..and I use the “bottle” . I am not ashamed to say that I have to color my hair….There is so much gray in it now…So not only is it flat, it is colored….I think hair is a very depressing thing to write about.
Mom used to take my sister and I to a ladie’s “beauty salon in her home” to get hair cuts for school. My hair is curly and hard to mess up, plus I was a tomboy and really didn’t care. My sister is the exact opposite! Straight hair, and very particular!! The lady cut her bangs crooked, and then kept cutting and cutting trying to fix them until they were nubs!! She finally stopped, at which time my Mom asked my sister if she was going to “thank” her for her cut!! She cried for days, and wore a scarf to school for at least 2 weeks!!!! Even though I didn’t care much what mine looked like, I felt really sorry for her. I have been a hairstylist now for 50 years!! and I try always to remember the feelings of the client I work with!!!
When I was young my mom had my sister and my hair cut in the short style of the day, The DA( Duck’s butt) and we wore it like a badge until we came of age where we would take responsibilty for our own hair and I grew mine as long as my hippie heart desired. My mom never relinquished her control easily though and I spent many years sleeping on bristle rollers that cut into my scalp, sat under a hair dryer with a hood that looked like a vacuum cleaner and in uni wrapped my locks around my head in an attempt to straighten out my wavy spirit:} My grandma believed that cutting a lock of hair and putting it under the front porch step meant that your child would never stray far from home( what was she thinking). Flash forward to the now. My locks still long though I am aging and at times between visits to the hairdresser I resemble more a skunk on the prowl than a hippie with a heart and what to do? What to do? To cut or not to cut? That is the question. The bible says that a woman’s hair is her crown and glory. Who ever met a gal who didn’t need a crown:}
Her hair is her trademark and not simply because its so long she can ‘sit on it’, its the fact that she’s had it her entire life. Taking care to wash & condition her locks everyday, the first thing she worried about when she broke her wrist was ‘how will I wash my hair?…she should have known her husband would take care of it. He started each day by carefully shampooing her locks and conditioning each strand…followed with drying, brushing and styling into the long ponytail she was accustomed to. Everything was going to be alright.
I started losing my hair 3 weeks after my 1st chemo! While I was in the shower shampooing, I noticed my arms looked like a werewolf so I quickly called a hairdresser friend and arranged a “new do” luncheon. My husband, Nick, served cold salmon w/dill sauce; delish. Incredibly, I went from Winona to Mia to Sinead within a week! Although I did wear a wig when the weather or occasion dictated, I was determined to wear only tennis caps when appropriate. What an experience! Since I was cancer recognizable, sooo many women approached me to say “God Bless” and wish me well. It was astounding, overwhelming and the best experience I ever had to witness the bond of women everywhere and realize how many of us are survivors:) Power to the X’s!
So very happy to hear “You are a Survivor.” God Bless you..
I travelled this road for three years with my SIL. I understand the lose of personal identity and I mourn it.I am so happy to hear that you are a survivor. Renews my faith in love. I wish you light and love and great joy.xx
Well, CONGRATS yourself, Sheree, for you too are a survivor! Actually, I had to look up SIL before I responded, for although I knew I would be sending out a congratulatory messge I was unfamiliar with the abbreviation and had to first know what I was responding to. Remember, hair is like the frosting on a cake; it may be sweet but it is the substance underneath that truly matters!!! Take care and thanks again for your support and sharing:)
Bless you! You are a hero, you fought the war and won.
Oh my, I missed a few more personal messages! Thank you so much Cindy, Sheree & Wanda for your support, for it is greatly appreciated and more proof of the bond of women everywhere!!! Actually, I was reading up from the latest story posted and was wondering who else had submitted a hair loss story. To my surprise it was still me! lol Thanks again:)
As much as I’ve always loved my hair and styling it – I’ve also always had a deep hatred of having it cut. As a little child the only way I could be persuaded to have it cut was to have it done seated on my nan’s bicycle – thankfully the hairdresser was my nan’s sister so didn’t mind too much. My dislike of hairdressers was cemented aged 8 when my auntie decided to would be cute for me and my cousin to have matching bobs (very short bobs) – come to think of it my relationship with my aunt hasn’t been good since either. My cousins hair grew out far quicker than mine and to this day I hate having my hair short (it also doesn’t suit me short).
I’m very protective of my hair. At 65 I still have a relative full hair of strawberry blonde that people ask if it is colored. (It isn’t.) What they don’t know is that as a child I didn’t have any for three years. Somehow I didn’t get hair until I was two. My mother used to scotch tape a pink bow to my head so people wouldn’t tell her what a beautiful boy she had. Just as I got a little fuzz after my 2nd birthday I lost all of it to Scarlet Fever. More tape and more pink bows.
When I was little, about 9 years old my mum popped out to the shops while I was left to play. It was a lovely and sunny day so I was playing outside on the patio. I decided to play hair dressers. I lined up all of the patio chairs and put my dolls in them but I think I got bored of cutting my dolls hair and I decided it would be a good idea to cut my own. When my mum got back she was shocked to discover I had cut all one side of my hair off. She was very angry too! I had made a right mess of it. She thought I had done it for attention because she left me at home to go to the shops but I really was just playing hair dresser.
Bear with me while I tell one more “Hair” story. I work in the handicapped classroom in Junior High. Our special angels may be bent and broken. They do not speak, but their smiles will melt your heart. And my special girls have the most beautiful hair. It is the texture of silk. So soft and shiny much like that of a baby’s. While they are unique in every way, many of them have those perfect ringlets that are so beautiful… very dark black curls..There is one angel with blonde straight full thick hair. It is probably a sin the way I envy these girls their beautiful locks. I love my angels with all my heart. My hope is that i can give them happiness and joy in return for the blessings they give me everyday.
Love this, Cindy. Thank you for doing this work.
Diane is probably going to kick me off of Story Weekend if I don’t stop writing. ..But it seems that these memories just keep popping in my head. When I was 42 years old, I woke up one day and went to work. There was a loud roar in my right ear. By the end of that day, my hearing was completely gone in the right ear. Long story short. I have a Schwannoma in my right cavernous sinus (center of brain behind right eye). No my hearing loss was not in any way related. But trying to find a dx, we luckily found it. I went to the hospital to get brain surgery (biopsy). My sweet nurse started to cut my pieces of my long hair off..The suddenly she said “I hope it is OK for me to cut your hair?” One of her patients freaked out one day when she was cutting her hair, The young lady was convinced that she had Angels living in her hair. Good news is I didn’t freak out. They did shave part of my head, Schwannomas are never malignant, They couldn’t take it out, but they Gammaknifed so it would kill it. My hearing never came back. Possibly a result of virus. I am very lucky to have lost my hearing 🙂
Joanne…congratulations on being a survivor…you’re a great inspiration and your strength carries through by your written words.
Hi there Margo,
I was just catching up on the latest “Hairy” tales when I noticed your gracious response and I apologize for my delayed acknowledgement. Thank you so much for your support, for I greatly appreciate it:!!! I am currently in my 10th year of remission; very special:)
In 1984 I went into get my hair lightly waved, on those big long rods that they wrap your hair down the rod and clip them in a circle on your head. I have some natural curl, but my hair is very thick and when I wear it long the weight pulls out the curl. My hair was down past my waist. I came out of there looking like I stuck my finger in a light socket, and it was short. They left the solution on too long. I was so angry. They fried my hair and it took a couple years to get it grown out to where I was back to my natural look. I have never had a perm since then.
I had quite a few Sindy Dolls (the English Barbie) as a child, and I loved pulling each pristine, pink clad ballerina from the box. I especially loved her hair, pulled tight and shiny into a big, dancer’s bun that sat at the nape of her neck. I would stroke the mirror smooth surface until I could stand it no longer; I simply HAD to wash, dry and restyle this beautiful barnet myself. I had to PLAY with it! Sadly of course, it always turned out the same … a shock of blonde straw sticking straight up from the top of her head. I never learned, I always hoped, and I usually chewed her feet off in disappointment as a result … 🙂
This is my first time to do this and I cut out more than 100 words so I’m trying. This is my verison of a true story about my aunt who had short hair every since this incident when she was six years old.
“I hate pigtails.” I chanted as I tugged each braid side to side. Wisps of hair began to fall around my ears. Each day, my sister and I would endure this grooming session. I was
always first, protesting as my mother tried to beat my tangles into submission. As I retreated back to my room, silence followed. It never seemed to bother my perfect sister. Staring into the mirror as I jerked my pigtails from side to side, I knew what I must do. My mother’s sewing scissors lay on the desk. I grabbed the shears and with one satisfying chop, one long braid fell to the floor. Tufts of tendrils stuck out where the braid had fallen. Seconds later, my sister entered the room gasping and screaming “Mother”. My mother emerged, marched toward me, grabbed the scissors and without a word sliced the other braid from my head.
Welcome to the blog, Sabrina, and thanks for trying to do the 100 word thing!