Last year at the PICA awards, Jackie Berger, the editor of Elle magazine was given the consumer editor of the year award. One of the editorials she wrote was ‘the history of my hair’. Brilliant I thought to myself. One day I should write about the history of my hair.
I actually forgot about it all until recently, when the hair debate started. You just had to watch 3rd Degree on Tuesday night and read the article on the Women 24 site yesterday. It is a very sensitive topic for some people, and understandably so.
So this post is about the history of my hair… it might be broken up into two parts, because my hair and I have a very turbulent history. Okay, so I might be exaggerating a little. But it does feel like that sometimes.
When I was born in November of 1983, my Mom says that I was bald. I had soft tufts of blonde/red hair. Apparently I was mistaken for a boy quite a few times, and that is why my Mom decided to pierce my ears.
I remember by the time I went to nursery school, my hair had grown and by the end of nursery school, my hair was quite long. In grade one my brother, Biker Man decided to get married and I was nominated to be the flower girl… awww. That morning, bright and early I was awoken from my slumber; my hair was washed and put into rollers, so that I had locks flowing down my back. By this time in my life, my hair was thick and long and shiny and very straight, very pretty I must add. However, later in the day when they took those horrid rollers out after drying my hair I might add… my hair was still wet… Anyways, my Mom, the brilliant lady that she is sorted that out and I got to stand in front with gorgeous hair.
Then came the horrid night, we were running late for church and my mom said I must brush my hair. I was grade two. I came back into the room, with the roller brush caught into my hair to my scalp. My mom struggled to get my hair loose from the tangled brush. She even tried a knitting needle. Nothing worked. My hair was too tangled. She then had to cut the brush out.
I walked around with a pony tail that was half long and short. It was too terrible. When we went to cut it the next day, the hairdresser cut it into a bob style…. But my hair didn’t turn in but out. So my Mom took me back and they cut my hair short off. I think I was the only child to ever play Mother Mary in the school play with short hair. It was when they cut my hair short, that it frizzed, and not just curls, but frizz. ‘Kroes krulle’ as the Afrikaans side of the family said.I learnt to live with my hair short and curly… I didn’t like it, but I had no choice. I didn’t realise then how lucky I was.
I remember that in primary school we had a “lice epidemic”. I remember my mom washing my hair with that special shampoo, but luckily for me, I didn’t have any. In all the scares that there were, my hair was always safe.
Then came high school, but I think I’ll leave that part for tomorrow.
Have a great day my lovelies.