I guess there are more important things to reflect upon as we enter the last hours of 2011. I'm sure every blogger worth his or her salt will be composing and crafting great reflective blogs about the past twelve months and what they have learned and how they've grown...perhaps sighting accomplishments or regrets or life changing moments....births or deaths...loss and gain. That's pretty typical, but if there is one thing I'm not, it's typical. My reflection on 2011 is represented by my Hair. My Hair has always been a source of great controversy since as far back as I can remember. When I was very, very little, my Gran would stack phone books and Sears and Roebuck catalogues on top of a dinning room chair and then lift me and balance me on top of the pile so I would be high enough for her to roll my stick straight Hair on to little Lilt perm rollers. My job was to sit very still and hand her the papers she used to gather the ends of my Hair so they could be more easily captured and reigned in and twisted around each colorful perm rod. After all of my Hair was rolled Grandma would give me a towel to cover my face and eyes and cautioned me to hold it tight against my forehead as she wet my entire head with the strong smelling perm solution. Then, we waited. Waiting isn't easy when you're 2 or 3 years old. Come to think of it, I'm 40+ years past toddlerhood and I don't think I've found waiting to be any easier at all, but I digress...
I don't recall how many of these home perms I had growing up, but it was definitely in the double digits. Keep in mind, there was nothing wrong with my Hair as a child. It was a natural, honey-blonde color that took on a beautiful sun-kissed look every summer from playing outside all day and swimming whenever I got the chance. However, my Gran (who also had naturally straight Hair that she permed regularly) loved curls. God didn't give them to me, so she did.
As I grew older, my Hair took on a staring role in my life. I grew up in the 70's and 80's and Hair....big bouncy Farrah Fawcett Hair that took 1 hour, 2 sets of hot rollers, and 1/3 can of Aqua Net (Extra Hold, of course), was the desired norm. I continued the perming process well past my high school years. I was a young bride, and my husband loved my Hair-as long as I kept it the exact same style as when he first met me a few weeks after my 16th birthday. He got very upset if I suggested cutting it or changing the style much. It wasn't really my Hair, it was his Hair now. I just was responsible for maintaining it.
As you might guess, that marriage didn't last long and you'll be happy to know that I was re awarded custody of my own Hair in the divorce. I have to admit, I went a little crazy with my newly acquired Hair freedom. I teased and fluffed and straightened and even colored it (Gasp!) for the first time. This was around 1988 and I am proud to say I have not seen my natural Hair color since then, but for a few roots. ;0) Can I get an Amen?
Another huge turning point in my Hair history came in 1998. That was the year my long, beautiful Hair was used as a weapon against me by my then fiance' turned abuser as he pulled my Hair by the handfuls and dragged me down a dirt road in Oregon by it. Several hours (and many beatings) later when the police finally arrested him for assaulting and kidnapping me and my baby, he tried to lie and said "I didn't touch her!". But my Hair, of which much was wound tightly around the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, told a different story. Within a few weeks of that night, after most of the bruises faded, I drove to the next town over and I demanded that my long, flowing Hair be removed. I had it cut up to my ears. No one would drag me by my Hair again. Ever. Problem solved.
Well, the loss of my Hair didn't solve anything. All it was was a constant reminder of how I let someone continue to control me for years even when there was no hair to pull. I kept my Hair fairly short for most of the next 10 years. I was cautious to never let it grow much below my shoulders and rationalized that it was easier to take care of and that, after all, wasn't I getting too old to have long flowing tresses? Wasn't long hair that could be worn in a ponytail something of youth? Shouldn't I present a more "mature" appearance?
In 2009, I became very ill. I was bedridden for months and months. The only time I was not in bed was when I was at a doctors appointment or in the hospital. This went on for over a year and a half. I was often too sick to even wash my Hair, let alone have the strength to comb it. I remember having to use both hands to steady the comb when I tried. I didn't go to a salon hardly at all those 18 months. I was just too sick. My Hair just grew and grew as I laid in bed day after day, week after week, and so on. When I was placed on a experimental medication for my illness in June of 2010 I started to be able to get my life back, but I now-for the first time in over 10 years-had this long Hair to contend with. What was I going to do with all of this Hair??
I kept the Hair. It has been growing like a weed since I made that decision in the summer of '10. Now it is even longer than it was that night in 1998 when it was used to hurt me and my baby girl. A few months ago on my 45th birthday I went to my dear friend who is a talented and amazing Hair artist and colorist and he dyed my Hair the most bright, beautiful shade of RED I had ever seen in my life!! When I stood up after he rinsed the color out and saw my reflection for the first time I said "Would you look at ME!"
My Hair and I have come a long way together. I baby it, braid it, curl it, condition it...but most of all, I LOVE IT. It is my Hair. My Hair is finally mine and, in the words of Lady GaGa, I am my Hair. May this year you resolve to love and be loved for exactly who you are.
I just wanna be myself,
And I want you to love me for who I am
I just wanna be myself,
And I want you to know, I am my Hair
I’ve had enough
This is my prayer
That I’ll die living just as free as my hair
Watch Lady GaGa's video for "Hair" here.
*This post is lovingly dedicated to my first Hair stylist, my Grandma, Mary Louise Eye and my current Hair stylist Rick Stache. I, and my Hair, love both of you, always.
I don't recall how many of these home perms I had growing up, but it was definitely in the double digits. Keep in mind, there was nothing wrong with my Hair as a child. It was a natural, honey-blonde color that took on a beautiful sun-kissed look every summer from playing outside all day and swimming whenever I got the chance. However, my Gran (who also had naturally straight Hair that she permed regularly) loved curls. God didn't give them to me, so she did.
As I grew older, my Hair took on a staring role in my life. I grew up in the 70's and 80's and Hair....big bouncy Farrah Fawcett Hair that took 1 hour, 2 sets of hot rollers, and 1/3 can of Aqua Net (Extra Hold, of course), was the desired norm. I continued the perming process well past my high school years. I was a young bride, and my husband loved my Hair-as long as I kept it the exact same style as when he first met me a few weeks after my 16th birthday. He got very upset if I suggested cutting it or changing the style much. It wasn't really my Hair, it was his Hair now. I just was responsible for maintaining it.
As you might guess, that marriage didn't last long and you'll be happy to know that I was re awarded custody of my own Hair in the divorce. I have to admit, I went a little crazy with my newly acquired Hair freedom. I teased and fluffed and straightened and even colored it (Gasp!) for the first time. This was around 1988 and I am proud to say I have not seen my natural Hair color since then, but for a few roots. ;0) Can I get an Amen?
Another huge turning point in my Hair history came in 1998. That was the year my long, beautiful Hair was used as a weapon against me by my then fiance' turned abuser as he pulled my Hair by the handfuls and dragged me down a dirt road in Oregon by it. Several hours (and many beatings) later when the police finally arrested him for assaulting and kidnapping me and my baby, he tried to lie and said "I didn't touch her!". But my Hair, of which much was wound tightly around the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, told a different story. Within a few weeks of that night, after most of the bruises faded, I drove to the next town over and I demanded that my long, flowing Hair be removed. I had it cut up to my ears. No one would drag me by my Hair again. Ever. Problem solved.
Well, the loss of my Hair didn't solve anything. All it was was a constant reminder of how I let someone continue to control me for years even when there was no hair to pull. I kept my Hair fairly short for most of the next 10 years. I was cautious to never let it grow much below my shoulders and rationalized that it was easier to take care of and that, after all, wasn't I getting too old to have long flowing tresses? Wasn't long hair that could be worn in a ponytail something of youth? Shouldn't I present a more "mature" appearance?
In 2009, I became very ill. I was bedridden for months and months. The only time I was not in bed was when I was at a doctors appointment or in the hospital. This went on for over a year and a half. I was often too sick to even wash my Hair, let alone have the strength to comb it. I remember having to use both hands to steady the comb when I tried. I didn't go to a salon hardly at all those 18 months. I was just too sick. My Hair just grew and grew as I laid in bed day after day, week after week, and so on. When I was placed on a experimental medication for my illness in June of 2010 I started to be able to get my life back, but I now-for the first time in over 10 years-had this long Hair to contend with. What was I going to do with all of this Hair??
I kept the Hair. It has been growing like a weed since I made that decision in the summer of '10. Now it is even longer than it was that night in 1998 when it was used to hurt me and my baby girl. A few months ago on my 45th birthday I went to my dear friend who is a talented and amazing Hair artist and colorist and he dyed my Hair the most bright, beautiful shade of RED I had ever seen in my life!! When I stood up after he rinsed the color out and saw my reflection for the first time I said "Would you look at ME!"
My Hair and I have come a long way together. I baby it, braid it, curl it, condition it...but most of all, I LOVE IT. It is my Hair. My Hair is finally mine and, in the words of Lady GaGa, I am my Hair. May this year you resolve to love and be loved for exactly who you are.
I just wanna be myself,
And I want you to love me for who I am
I just wanna be myself,
And I want you to know, I am my Hair
I’ve had enough
This is my prayer
That I’ll die living just as free as my hair
Watch Lady GaGa's video for "Hair" here.
*This post is lovingly dedicated to my first Hair stylist, my Grandma, Mary Louise Eye and my current Hair stylist Rick Stache. I, and my Hair, love both of you, always.
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