My mother is not a hair person. Her hair is baby-fine, has been kept quite short most of her life, and although she home-permed it for a long time in the 1960s and '70s -- I remember the smell! -- she never enjoyed messing with it, nor with anyone else's. So I had a pixie cut for wash-and-wearability until I was five.
Then, in 1967, my mod teenage cousins from England visited, wearing miniskirts and ultra-fashionable long straight hair. I loved the way that looked, and insisted on growing mine out. My mother agreed, with the condition that now I was responsible for it, and if I let it get snarled and nasty, she was going to cut it off again. I'm sure she thought this was going to be a six-month phase at most, but I have not had a significant cut in the four decades since. Hee!
She did insist that I trim it once in a while, since she thought tapered ends looked ratty, but this was never really a battle between us -- or at least I don't remember it that way. I thought she was fairly easygoing about such things. So I didn't have a strong impression of how little my mother cares for hair until just the other day. We went to my son's elementary school to pick him up, and as we were crossing the playground, I spotted a little girl I've noticed before. She's noticeable and no mistake; her hair is mid-back, thick and curly, and a glorious deep red; the sort of color you almost always only see on children before it fades to a less intense shade, and IMO is all the more beautiful for being ephemeral. I pointed her out to Mom, with the intention of saying, "Isn't that marvelous!"
What did Mom reply?
"Ugh! How can you even brush hair like that? It looks like a nightmare!"
I blinked a couple of times and mentioned wide-tooth combs and plenty of conditioner... but good gracious, Mom! It was the end of the school day and the kid had been running around the playground, so of course it didn't look perfectly neat and smooth at that moment, but not one person in a thousand has hair of that color and texture. It's like a national treasure! (My husband had curly red hair when I met him, point of fact. I love it.) Who wouldn't go to a little bit of trouble to maintain such a head-turningly beautiful mop?
Not Mom, apparently! I can imagine, having read so many people's accounts of childhood hair wars, that this might have become a major battleground between us if my hair had been curly or otherwise needed some special handling to look "tidy". My sympathy for those who did have big struggles over their hair has just jumped several notches...
Vicky
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