Hair's Lookin' at You, Kid!
Back in Methuselah’s era (the ‘60’s), a brand new Broadway show had arrived in Manhattan. It was called “Hair.” I never got into the city to see it and I have no idea to this day what its focus was upon.
However, hair is a very touchy subject to me…always has been. Before I rant on, I'm extremely fortunate to have it, I realize that. But at my age now, I’m starting to look like Martha Washington in pictures that are taken of me. Thank goodness I don’t have any wooden teeth!
Let’s start at the very beginning: The earliest problem that I had with hair that I can remember was living in a trailer in WV in the very late 40’s. My Dad was a coach at the local college. My mother was always putting my very straight, stubborn, mousey-brown hair into ponytails and wrapping them with white rags. Yes…white rags. She states that they were popular back then (?!). I remember a pair of scissors hanging on a nail on the wall above a bed (yes, I have weird recollections). For some unknown reason, I got a hold of those scissors and lopped off my bangs way up into my hairline. It wasn't a good day.
I went into the ‘50’s with tightened braids that stuck out on both sides of my head (yes, my ears were straight, thank goodness). By then, colored ribbons were in vogue. If we were out of ribbons, we got the rubber bands, or "gum bands" as we called them. My growing-out bangs were held back with bobby pins, yet another archaic object of a bygone era.
“My father had the most beautiful head of thick dark waves,” Mom would tell me throughout my years of hair nightmares. “I wish one of you kids had inherited the gene for it. I always read that curly hair was dominant over straight hair!”
Well, it was indeed a sad fact. My Dad's mousey-brown hair was straight as a poker. But what did he know? He always wore a crew cut.
The years passed; in high school, I went through the antics of trying to emulate the high-in-the-sky teased and sprayed “Beehive.” Ye gawds. One was not to wash her hair for an entire week or more, because this sprayed-stiff concoction took a lot of time to build up on the head! While I was watching Dick Clark’s Bandstand one day, news leaked out later (in one of the rag papers) that one of the girls dancing had had a rat sneak into her two-week long “Beehive”…and that was not good news indeed.
From there, it was “The Flip.” All I had to do was lie in bed each night (for years on end) with Pepto-Bismol-colored pink rock-hard curlers clutched to my scalp. My head felt as though it had permanent dents along its ridges. By right, it should have been a phrenologist’s dream! (“Phrenology is based on the idea that there is correlation between the bumps and indentations on one’s head and that person’s character traits. The thought is that the areas of the brain that are frequently used grow larger.”) Well, so much for that theory!
Oh, I had many “perms” in my day as well. The one that stands out the most is during my sophomore year of high school. I was sent downtown, after school, to have a perm. I ended up walking out of the shop with an added bonus of a big red velvet bow plopped atop the front of my head. I kid you not. To state that I looked like a poodle is an understatement. I wonder if I could have sued back in those days?
As life progressed, I used toilet paper to cover my hair at night, as well as empty coke and beer cans for those larger curls that I aimed for.
I married a man with the most gorgeous head of hair…blonde ringlets. Everyone in his family had curly/wavy hair. Once again, my generic genes produced three boys with no wave or curl whatsoever upon their handsome heads. Well, maybe I should take that statement back....when our eldest son let his hair grow down his neck in the late ‘80’s, I had to pinch myself in utter glee because my hands were at awe pulling at the strands of his chestnut-colored hair. With elation, I rang out the news to everybody I knew that yes indeed... my son had a tad of real live, honest-to-goodness wave in his hair!
The very first year of marriage, my husband and I lived in an apartment in northern New Jersey. We had three stewardesses (flight attendants, sky hoppers, air hostesses…whatever…) living across the hall from us. We got talking about hair and I expressed growing interest in petite Mia Farrow’s pixie cut in her role in “Rosemary’s Baby,” a semi-horror movie that came out in 1968. Everybody had always told me that my facial features were small, and that this style would suit me perfectly. The problem was that I was five foot eleven inches and big boned, even though I was skinny way back in those days. Well, I tried saving money by chopping off my own hair. Stewardesses to my rescue! The brave one tried awfully hard to even out my layers of choppy mowed hair…From there, it was off to my husband’s family barber at the shore. After a stern lecture, I walked out of the place with a crew cut. I looked like my Dad in drag.
Marriage, children, and life in general went on…until that ill-fated day of wanting and getting an “Afro.” Our youngest son had been born a few months before. I had had no problems with his wanting to bond with me beforehand. However; suddenly, this sweet-faced bundle-of-joy decided to push away my face and scream maniacally each time I picked him up from his crib. This went on and on. I couldn't figure out just why my son was rejecting me time after time? My husband clued me in as gently as he could.
I’ve gone through the Dorothy Hamill “Wedge,” (in all lengths), more Pixie’s via-over-the-ears, more Flips…you name ‘em, I’ve had ‘em!
Right now, I'm so very tired…tired of trying to figure out to just what lengths (no pun intended) I have to go through in order to find the right hair style for me!?!
Have I mentioned that other than being a mousey browner, I’ve laid claim on being a golden, sunny-glow, touch of sun, platinum, dark ash, medium ash, light ash, streaked, frosted, stripped, you-name-the-shade blonde?
My hair's now graying …rapidly. Well shoot…it’s practically white!
Hmmm…I wonder what I’d look like as a redhead in that hair style so popular today…the one where the back is cut short and the sides hang down along the face?
Interesting.
Until next time,
Pam