Everything I Need to Know in Life, I Learned from My Hair

Ah, Elaine, my dear dear friend.
Elaine's comment on my previous post has forced me to revisit one of the saddest aspects of my life...my hair. Who knew that curls could bring such beauty and glory and yet also such shame and disgrace?
Throughout the time line of my life, one thing has remained constant: My hair refuses to cooperate.
It began innocently enough. As a small girl, I grew tired of the refrain constantly uttered by (in my opinion) old ladies, "What beautiful curly hair!" The irony of this is that just when I had escaped this phrase, only because it's less socially acceptable for people to shower attention to a grown woman's curly hair, I now hear this phrase constantly again in reference to my daughter's hair. At some point around the 3rd grade, my hair lost a bit of its natural cuteness and my mom took matters into her own hands. Unfortunately, my mom does not have curly hair, so she was unsure how best to style it. Her solution was to pick out my dry hair with a brush or pick. The result of course, was a fro. I was the only white girl (actually, I was the only girl period) in my school with a fro. Thinking that the curls themselves were to blame, I then embarked on a several year journey of trying to straighten my hair. I tried perming it, I know it sounds crazy, to make it less curly. I tried the crimping iron. Total failure. I tried using a curling iron to straighten it. I think I even tried chemical straightener at a salon to no avail. Folks, some hair God meant to be curly and there just isn't any undoing it. I had to finally accept this truth. I promise I came so close to just shaving my entire head once. The hair stylist talked me out of it. But right before high school this mentality of the less hair, the better kicked into action. I cut my hair extremely short. It was only about a quarter of an inch long at the back and sides, with hair a few inches in length on the top. And, of course, I left one long reminder of my long curly locks in the form of a strand that ran from the base of my neck to the middle of my back. I kept my "tail" braided and looked upon it fondly. Only in hindsight do I realize how ridiculous this was. I can't remember when exactly I cut the tail, perhaps right before college. And I still have it. It's up in a box in a closet somewhere with a few other strange souvenirs and old diaries. Remind me to go burn the contents of this box. Finally, just as I began college, I finally started making good hair decisions. I had a few helpful stylists and I realized that longer hair=heavier hair=looser curls. It seems so simple now, but that equation had evaded me until then. I began to grow my hair longer. I found mousses and gels that I could put onto my wet hair that made it manageable, less frizzy, less fro-like, prettier. And people, for the first time in my life I started to like my hair. And really, if I am being totally honest, I began to like myself also. Let's face it. One feature, especially one as visible as hair, can completely dominate our opinion of ourselves. My hair had created this ugly identity in my mind that I could never overcome. I was made fun of relentlessly all through elementary and middle school all because of this one unruly feature. It shaped me in a huge way. Deep, depressing, self-loathing ways that words can't clearly express. The impact of finally embracing my hair spread into all aspects of my life slowly but surely. These days I barely give my hair a second thought. It still amazes me that something that ruled over me like a shadow for so many years is now an afterthought. If there is one thing that I hope to gain from this experience though, it is the wisdom to help my daughter embrace her own curly hair. And more than that, to embrace every aspect of her unique beautiful self. I wasted too much time in front of a mirror, longing for a change, disgusted with myself. And I am probably not the only one.
One thing my friend Karen does that completely enamors me and motivates me to do the same is she tells my daughter and lots of other young girls how beautiful they are. Right to their face, in a sincere loving conversational way. That is a message our daughters can not hear often enough. They need to know they are accepted just the way they are.
And grown up girls still like to hear it too. So go ahead and tell us.
And finally, no. I am not posting any photos of the various hairstyles mentioned in this post.
So don't even ask!