From Hair to There

January 2013

For as long as I can remember

my hair has always been 

a prized possession

and an indicator 

of my emotional state.

When I was little 

it hung down to my waist

and my Grandma Maggie would

sit me down every afternoon 

to comb and curl 

and fasten with giant elastic ponytail holders.

The unwieldy holders 

with the big colorful balls

that would regularly snap from around my hair,

hit her knuckles 

and squeeze an "Ay!!!!"

from under her breath.

I'd sit with my drying curls in my hands

and watch "Facts of Life"

before going to play GI Joe

with my cousin Kevin.

My mom kept my hair long

and treated it with 

the most expensive shampoos and conditioners.

A luxury I didn't truly appreciate

until decades later 

when I lived on my own

and could only afford Suave.

The first time my dad took me to get a haircut

I told the girl I wanted it to my shoulders.

My dad begrudgingly gave in

wholly regretting it later 

when my mom met us at the door

with tears and shrieks
and

"Oh my god you're HAIR!!!!!"

I was 11
and it was my first rebellion.

At 14 I dyed it burgundy
with an ancient box of Clairol

and she grounded me for a month,

and when I was a senior in high school

and the cheer coach quit
at the beginning of the year,

I felt angry and abandoned

and like I needed a new identity.

So I cut off a foot and a half of hair

and said goodbye to my cheer ponytail

forever.

The summer before college,

in love with Paul but feeling

like my skin didn't fit,

I left the Newport beach house

my friend's parents rented every summer,

walked to a local salon

and paid $100 to cut it all off.

My poor boyfriend
wondered what had happened to me.

As the years have worn on

it's been every length

and every color.

Long and short and in between.

Dec. 2009 - My favorite 3 year old girl is also in this picture

Jet black and sassy.

February 2006 - mine and my BFF's best hair day ever

A reddish Louis Brooks interpretation.

 

Summer 2011 - Ugh with the cigs

I am secretly addicted

to cutting my own bangs in the mirror

at midnight 

with fabric scissors

and having to get them fixed 

by a professional

when the sun rises

the next day.

With both babies

the mixture of hormones and prenatals

made for long luxurious locks,

but without fail I would come 

to take shears out on myself

when months later
I couldn't make sense of anything

let alone what to do with long hair.

The last time I dramatically cut my hair

James was 10 months old

and my relationship with his father

was a mess of knots.

I wanted to cut away the past,

the energy,

the memories of some pretty tough years.

For months I had pleaded with my girlfriend Renee to chop it,

but believing it only to be a case of the baby insanity,

she refused.

Finally after months of my relentless insistence,

she caved and cut my bra band length hair into a pixie.

March 2009 - That baby face is killig me

It's been growing for almost 4 years

and I can't remember the last time I dyed it.

I'm sprouting grays

and sometimes I fantasize

about doing something crazy

with the cut and color,

but truly the desire is not there.

Sometimes I think it's because now I'm boring

(which I kind of am)

but also I think it may be because I'm content.