With the “hair” prompt from Sunday Scribblings this week, I spent some time thinking of hair as it relates to my life. That sounds rather weighty, doesn’t it? And it sounds sort of scary, too, because hair shouldn’t really be too big of a deal, should it? Should there be a separate category of “hair” when thinking about my life? My initial thought is, “Hell, no.” But then it occurs to me that I could probably categorize my life’s moments by any subject. So it might as well be hair.
Here, in quite possibly a tangled order, some notable hair aspects of my life:
1. My hair is very thick, and everyone has always told me how envious they are about that. Yet I’m one of the least hair-conscious folks you could find. I guess my naturally thick and manageable hair enables that carefree – or careless – attitude about what sits on top of my hair.
2. Two times I have grown my hair long only to chop it off and give it away to Locks of Love. The first time, when I was about 40, I gave 13 inches. The second time, when I was 43, I gave 11 inches. Up until that second shearing with the shears, I would tell anyone who asked that I’d keep growing my hair long and giving it away until it got so gray that no self-respecting cancer-surviving kid would want it.
3. Two years ago, when I chopped it very short, I found I liked the ease of caring for it. Not really being into personal frou-frou, I never did anything with my hair long except wash it and comb it. Sadly, I also had to blow dry it somewhat or I’d have wet hair for hours, soaking through whatever shirt I was wearing. With the short hair? A veritable short cut. Wash in seconds, rinse in seconds, comb and never touch it again until the next morning’s shower. Easy-breezy. Good-bye long hair.
4. The youngest lad had a rat tail until he begged to have it cut off when he was nearing 4. I let him plead for several weeks. My husband kept saying let him cut it off. I cried when it was gone. I saved it. It reminds me of a little boy with a touch of cool.
5. My daughter has some acute sensory issues which have lessened mightily with age. She couldn’t bear to have anyone touch near her ears. We have pictures of the lads when they were 12, 13 months old, denoting the first haircut. The first haircut picture of my daughter shows a proud 5½ year old.
6. My father died when he was 56. He still had mostly dark, dark hair. I am about 10 years younger than he was when he died. I have his hair. [I actually have his hair both literally and figuratively. Literally, I’ve got clippings taken after he died.] In addition to figuratively having his hair, I also, sadly, have his hairy arms and active sweat glands. Fortunately, my nose is not his.
I find my mind conjuring up many more strands of hair in my life, but I think that’s enough for today. I’ll leave you with this quote, author unknown, “How can I control my life when I can’t control my hair?”
[I'm posting this early on Saturday because I'll be busy most of the day. I hope to spend Sunday morning reading others' hair-raising posts.]