Where do I begin to tell the story….
When I was a young child, my mother told me she didn’t even try to brush my hair. It was just too…. too. (Her words)
In high school when Janice Joplin was queen, I thought I’d finally arrived, but still, my mom was all… “Can’t you just do something with that…?”
I had a guidance counsellor tell me, that I’d never get anywhere in life, unless I bought a better bra and did something with “the” hair.
The long and short of it is – I’ve had hair with its own personality ever since I was born. People called it “natural,” said I was lucky, and then would try everything on the planet to tame it.
My hair grows fast. It is thick, course and fuzzy. I can go from super short hair to waist length in about three years, and have many, many times.
But, oh, the adventures we had while it grew out were just… too.
I can tell story after story involving my hair.
Once in Milton, ON, Ed Cooper took me to his barber, for some “help.” This lady, I swear, loaded my head up with about 200 bobby pins and sprayed a full can of Auqanet on my head. “There,” she proclaimed proudly, “it’s not too….”
An elastic band was always my friend, and of course hats. I rarely go out without a hat — for me, it isn’t for fashion or keeping the sun off my face. A hat “controls” the mane.
Now, that I have short hair, I thought my troubles would be over. And for the most part they are, because I don’t care. Still, the young woman I found to cut my hair here on the coast, smiles, steps back, when working on my do, and says, “You really do have interesting hair.”
My short hair is easy. All I do is run my fingers through it before putting on my hat, when I go out, plus it dries in no time, after I wash it. (compared to the next day dry, when it was long.)
Why all this talk abut my hair? Because this photo showed up in the FB memories today.