what Mama told me / hair

I have naturally curly hair.

It’s plagues me.  It’s always big and poofy and pointy and unruly.  I’ve had it short, I’ve had it long.  I’ve had it layered, I’ve had it thinned.  When I’m at the CVS I’m amazed to see all the home perm kits for sale.  Who would wish this on them self?  I guess we always want what we don’t have.

In 2001 my hair was a little longer than shoulder length.  I was liking it long cause the weight of it all pulled some of the curl out – it was “wavy” instead of “curly” and that was suiting me just fine.  Andy and I had been together for just about a year at that point, and that’s when he told me he didn’t like my hair.  He didn’t actually say it directly, but he was looking directly at my head when he said:  “You know, the shower drain is backed up again.”

Co-dependent that I am, I went right out and got my hair cut.  Short.  Super short.  The “sincerely-hope-you-have-a-nice-shaped-head” type of short.  Now, my hair, without the weight to make it “wavy”, is very, very curly.  One night, lying in bed, Andy peered closely at my short, coarse, curly hair, chuckled to himself and said out loud:  “Do you think God just screwed up and put pubic hair on your head by mistake?”

In that moment I remembered something my Mother told me when I was ten and I knew that Andy was not the man for me.

When I was ten I got my first curling iron.  A curling iron has no place in the hands of a ten year old, especially not if that ten year old has thick, curly hair.  But it was 1978 – straight, thin, hair was in; preferably straight, thin, blond hair like Cheryl Tieggs had, and curling irons were made for women like Cheryl.  Do you remember that shampoo commercial she did?  She talked about standing on her balcony each morning and combing her freshly shampooed hair in the sun while it dried.  I can’t tell you how many times I tried to do that.  It’s all fun and games for the first four minutes while it’s still soaking wet, but as soon as the first few locks dry and bounce into their spring-loaded coil position it’s all over.  Tangles, snags and tears ensue.

So the curling iron.  Theory was that through militant blow drying I could straighten out my natural (and therefore undesirable) curls, and then use the curling iron to create new curls.  This never did happen.  Blow drying does indeed straighten out some of the curl, but the curls that stubbornly remain serve to bolster and volumize – resulting in a gravity defying full 360 of hair.  To this I was supposed to apply the curling iron to the sides and back for a finished look, but mostly I got second degree burns to my wrists and the sides of my neck.

I was ten years old, and I was tired.  My daily hair ritual demanded over an hour each morning, taking up valuable time other ten year olds were using to eat Eggos and drink Tang.  Alas, ballcaps were decidedly prohibited by my school’s dress code, so my day started with lather, rinse, repeat, followed by deep condition, blow dry, mousse, curling iron, and hairspray.  I may well be single-handedly responsible for poking a hole in the ozone layer.

It was the day of the science fair that was my undoing.  I’d stayed up late with my Mom, gluing coffee grounds to a mound of paper-mache that was designed to belch vinegar and baking soda in a rough representation of a volcano.  I couldn’t take the volcano on the bus, so Mom was going to drive me to school.  Knowing I’d be pressed for time in the morning, I washed my hair the night before, and fell asleep with it wet.

In the morning I woke up with the bed head from hell.  Half my hair was smashed flat against my head – remarkably straight, actually – but not in a good way.  The other half stood somewhere between a right angle and perpendicular to the floor.  There wasn’t enough mousse in the world to fix it.  I brushed, I combed, to no avail.  I did not look good and therefore neither did Vidal Sassoon.  I tried barrettes, no luck.  A headband didn’t even last a bull rider’s eight seconds before my hair threw it to the ground.  My Mom was shouting at me to hurry up, that I was going to be late for school.  I had the curling iron in one hand, my brush in the other, and a ponytail holder in my teeth when my Mom walked in, hands on hips. “Jennifer Marie,” she said, “we have to leave NOW.”  I turned from the mirror, frustration and fury boiling up in me, a trail of spittle running from the corner of my mouth.  As I looked from the curling iron to the brush, I felt a wayward curl tighten on its own volition and actually poke me in the ear.  “I hate my goddamn hair!” I seethed, and threw the brush across the room.

Mom drove me to school in silence.

That was the longest day of my ten year old life.  In my family children were to be seen and not heard.  I had never had a tantrum like that – I had never thrown anything, never yelled at my Mom, and you can be 100% sure I had never cussed out loud.  I was terrified to go home that day.  The red ribbon I got for second prize in the science fair was worthless in light of the trouble I was going to be in.  I’d be grounded for life.  I’d never see TV again.  She was gonna take away my books and my Barbies and worst of all:  she was gonna tell my Father when he got home.  My life was over.

When I got off the school bus it was raining, and my Mom was waiting in the Pinto to pick up me and my brother.  She drove us home, and just like every other rainy day of my childhood she made us popcorn and hot chocolate.  When my brother went to the family room to watch TV, I cleared the table and tearfully fumbled through an apology:  “Mom”, I said, “I’m really sorry for yelling this morning, but my hair is horrible and no one is ever going to love me.”  As she came across the kitchen toward me I could practically taste the Tabasco she would surely put on my tongue for cussing.  I wondered if I’d get the belt or the paddle when Dad got home.  Mom stood before me, ran a hand through her own thick, curly hair and then put her arms around me.  “Oh Jennifer”, she said.  “Someday you’ll find a man who’s gonna love you no matter what your hair looks like.”

Tags: angst, curly hair, dating, growth, healing, health, humor, learning, life, love, men, self care, tears, yourself