For someone whose birth records in her baby book indicate she was born as bald as a bowling ball, hair on the head is to be cherished.
In fact, hair in my personal case was such an important incident that the parent kept a reddish-coloured curl preserved in my personal growth records. That curl took several years to produce so it was an extra special artifact. The brother teased that the parent clipped it from the family dog because Mom was so upset that she had brought home a bald baby.
Eventually my curls grew and prospered and required periodic trims which, unfortunately, photos show, were not especially stylish — but there was never any bangs obscuring my eyesight.
School photos catalogued the progress of my head of hair, going from bowl-like to a pony tail to wavy, straight as a ruler to curly and oddly-shaped. I do recall the argument I made to have a neighbour lady cut my hair instead of putting the parent to all the trouble of cutting and styling. That hair cut was done with a razor blade instead of the kitchen shears and an old-fashioned set of clippers. And suddenly I thought I was in style to match the hairdos of my friends.
My first professional hair cut came at the hands of a stylist at Peggy’s Beauty Parlour on Main Street in Moose Jaw. What a feeling to be shampooed, cut and then curled while my Mother watched with a critical eye. I proudly handed over the money I had saved for such an occasion. I vowed never to wash away my new style, but the parent’s fear of cooties put an end to that water-saving idea.
Being a kid still made me vulnerable to the hairdressing skills of the parent who had a large collection of metal rollers that pulled going on and again coming off. A frizz ball resulted when the curls were brushed out.
Finally, some control of my hair came to me when I received some rubber rollers and others with brushes inside. I’d curl, sleep on my elbow and then my friend would backcomb my curls and set them in place with a hurricane of hairspray. As my hair grew longer, my rollers got larger and my style was flat on top, long and straight, with a slight upcurl on the ends.
In my independent years my stylists gave me a pageboy, toss curls, a shag, a pixie and toss curls for special occasions. And when it was popular, I had a short Afro, causing family members to joke about regression to baby years when I had no hair.
All of this attention to hair and various styles was prompted by some browsing on my favourite Internet sites where it was revealed that April 30 is hairstyle appreciation day. On that day I will be appreciative that, even though my hair is thinner, I still have more than when I was born.
It should be noted that April 30 is also national honesty day which means there will be much laughter when my baby/childhood photo albums show off how my hair grew — or didn’t.
Joyce Walter can be reached at ronjoy@sasktel.net
