I was at the beach with my family a couple of weeks ago. On the way out the door to go sit in the surf, my mom said “You’re hair!” (SIGH) “OH my!!” The implication being my hair was sticking up all over and looked a sight.
That morning I don’t even know if I had combed my hair. I was on the way to the beach. Putting on sunscreen and brushing my teeth after breakfast was the only items on my personal care agenda.
But my mother frequently makes comments about my hair. It has always drove me nuts too. When I walk in the door after being gone 6 months she’ll say, “Glad you’re home.” (Kiss) “You need a hair cut.” I had even taken to subversive retorts: “you know if I had cancer I’d not have hair.” “I am 49 years old mother. It is time to stop telling me when to cut my hair.” “You know – everyone I meet loves my hair – I do too. I am sorry you can’t see the beauty in its exuberance….” on and on. The comments always hurt. A thousand smart replies have never made them stop.
My mom has had a permanent wave every month of her life since she was 12 years old. She rolls her hair most nights before she goes to bed. She doesn’t dote on her hair, but she spends more time on it than I do mine.
I have very straight hair. It has a mind of its own too. And I have lots of it. I have never curled or permed it. I don’t even use a blow dryer on it most days. It is very healthy and shiny. I wrest it out of my face with a headband most of the time. If it is long enough I’ll occaisonally twist it into a french braid… but whatever fanciness I do, it pokes out all over and any hairdo falls in about 20 minutes. So mostly I just comb it and call it done.
I love that it is so wild and spikey. It is like a separate animal I carry with me wherever I go. It is always up there – on top of my head – waving at everyone without me knowing – like a kid in a car on the highway.
It probably would look best in a crew cut or about 2 inches long on top. I’d look too butch in a crew cut and I don’t think I’d look good in a mullet. I can’t tolerate permanents or hair sprays. Hair salon fumes makes me feel sick. And even if I did those things… it would all just fall out in 20 minutes—so it is what it is.
That day at the beach… I went out with my chair and sat in the surf with my feelings hurt. Nursing my wounds again that my mother hates my hair. I don’t care if you are 9 or 49—mothers are suppose to love you no matter what. Not “love you except for your wild unruly hair.” After two hours of being hurt over this, and contemplating all the things above… and figuring out what to say next time…. Duh! I finally realized. I was at the beach. There were 2-3 other people on the beach besides me and they were my nephews that I loved dearly. I had my feet in the ocean. It was a lovely day. It was 85 degrees and just perfect.
I had in my hand a sea shell. It was not “perfect”: its edges were worn by the ocean and it was only in fact 1/2 of 1/2 of an exoskeleton of an invertebrate animal… yet it was still more beautiful than anything I had ever made or seen made. I needed to remember the lesson of the sea shell.
I needed to be a better person and remember I was lovely. Just like the sea shell, God made me too. I didn’t need anyone else to confirm or disuade me from that. I didn’t need to do anything to fix that. I just needed to remember that.
So one of my newest goals on 43 Things is to be a better person. No one can ever take anything away from us. We choose to let them have it or not. This was a perfect example of where I gave 2 hours to being miserable. If I got the lesson of the sea shell from it, then I think it might be worth it.
Good luck and best wishes. b.
