I have been cutting my own hair since I was 12 years old. I can now envision many of you sitting there nodding your heads muttering, "Ahhhh, so that explains why she always looks like that."
It was a matter of survival. My mom was a frugal woman. We didn't have money to spare and she made the most of the few dollars we had. We walked to the grocery that had the best buy on vegetables that week and the butcher saved bones for us so mom could make soup from them. I went to the barber shop to get my hair cut. That was an expense. There were no such things as "salons" like there are these days. Back in the 40's and 50's only people with money had their hair "done" at a salon. And even to have your hair cut by the barber was considered an extravagance. But I guess my mom drew the line at her one and only daughter looking too much like a freak by having my dad or grand father chop at my hair. Not that I considered what the barber was doing much of an improvement.
I always had visions of long flowing locks. The whole Cinderella image was big at the time. Princesses weren't what they are today but Cinderella was pretty big and Alice in Wonderland with her long blond hair . . . Really, what little girl wouldn't want that look ? Only one problem! My hair refused to grow straight and flowing. The minute it got longer than an inch and a half it started getting wavy and curling all around and no matter what I wanted it to do it had a mind of its own. No amount of brushing or pulling at it would make it go straight and rather than look like Alice in Wonderland I quite resembled the Mad Hatter. So much for that attempt at beauty. My mother quickly realized long hair was not the way to go for her daughter, especially between the ages of about four and eight when the combing and styling of a child's hair are still left to the care of the mother. My mother, having the care and feeding of the two old grandpa's and my father, who as wonderful a man as he was did pretty much nothing for him self in the way of care and feeding. So trying to catch and "primp" the tangled masses of my unruly head of knots was not a barrel of laughs for either my mom or myself. I must have totally blocked these memories out because all I do remember is our infrequent trips to the barber shop, sitting in the lion chair to get my hair cut as short as possible and yet still be recognized as a girl and then being rewarded with a lollipop. (The barber was a long walk , I imagine it must have been about a mile, into the main shopping area. He had a seat that almost looked like a lion from a carousel but you sat inside it. It was such a treat that it encouraged you to sit still. I remember getting too big to sit in it and being so disappointed.) All those years of going to the barber shop with my mom, she would get her hair cut and then I would get mine cut the same short cut. I remember one year when I was about 10 the barber telling my mother what a beautiful girl I was. That was the first time I ever heard anyone say that about me. I will always remember that! Someone thinks I am BEAUTIFUL ! Is that even possible ? That thought have NEVER entered into my mind. That just wasn't a word in my vocabulary. I think that was the first time I ever started to look at myself in the mirror and consider what I did look like. And probably the first time I ever considered the possibility I could change those looks. I started watching what the barber did when he cut my hair. How he cut it. How he held the scissors. Where he cut, how much he cut, angles, shaping etc. By the time I was 12 I had bought my first set of hair cutting scissors and I was off and chopping.
Every so often I go get a professional cut to clean up my mess but quite honestly I always hate the result. They just never do what I ask. And the greatest thing about hair. IT ALWAYS GROWS BACK !
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