Hair

Jimmie cuts my hair when I'm working in Boston. I sneak over to the salon on my lunch break and am usually gone longer than I should be. Today I got a hair cut. The salon has begun to feature a line of products for curly hair and apparently the creators of the line came in to give the folks a two day workshop. The North Shore salon that I frequent specializes in the curly hair technique and these products. So we talked about curly hair, and how long it's taken for the profession and the fashion world to recognize its existence and its beauty.

Ah, the nightmare of hair! It was my nemesis. Very thick and kinky and my mom and grandmother, having survived their childhood with the same kind of hair, didn't know what to do about it. That was their story anyway. Frankly, I think my mom didn't want to help me with it. She had this "daughter" problem; she was able to be a mom to her sons, but she was a "professional daughter." Looking back on it, she dressed me funny and she just let my hair stand up like an electric shock. Gratefully, I didn't blame her at the time. When I first started school, my mom would stand me in the bathroom for an hour at least every morning to twist Shirley Temple curls into my hair. I'd have a headache by the end of it, and she'd have many broken combs. It was a lousy way to start a school day. Any day especially at five years old. At one point, she had it cut very short. That didn't help much. Braids worked fine when I was around nine or ten. But it was years before I could figure out how to deal with it. I wasn't always successful at conquering it. I got my hair straightened when I got married. The chemicals were not the super ones we have today, but it was better than "electric shock." When good chemicals appeared and hot curlers and blow dryers and the ability to have smooth hair, well - I'd had enough of the other way. Most beauticians couldn't deal with it either. So it would be short short lots of the time. In my late thirties I found a stylist who loved my curls. I had a few terrific years of wash and air dry. Now I'm back there again with the curly hair salon. The first one I went to made me look like Aunt Pitty-Pat in GONE WITH THE WIND. Calla Renee in Beverly, MA does an awesome job. But I also have a choice; I have hot curlers for a smooth day.

My son, Alex, inherited my hair. Pretty much he keeps it cut short. Except for a brief "Afro" period. My daughter had a more traumatic time with hers. My daughter is adopted and is part West Indian. She has "black" hair and always hated it although I tried to help her to love it. We had too many nights with combs and hairbrushes stuck in her hair -- once we made a late night run to our friend Kathy Sams, who was black and knew how to untangle a hair brush which would not have gone over very well at my daughter's school. I think the first time she loved her hair was when our friend Dennis, a brilliant hair stylist, straightened it for her. We thought she'd give herself whiplash flipping her head around. Now she has extensions, which look great and simplify her life. The youngest of her three children has "black hair" also. There are great products now and many options.

I think we all make too much fuss about hair. Years ago when he was in college, my actor son was in a musical playing Billy Idol. He went to Dennis to get his hair bleached out for the part. He almost got stoned every time he hit the street. Now that hair color would be tame. Males and females are seen on an ordinary day with hair of many colors NOT found in nature. And thanks to Kojak, guys who are losing their hair can shave their heads and be extremely sexy.

This summer my two blonde, curly haired California granddaughters came east with a perpetual bad hair day. I took them to the curly salon where they were treated like royalty and where their gorgeous curls were trimmed, washed, polished, and arranged in film star fashion. I was so pleased for them; this could never have happened when I was thirteen. A week or so later I received email photos of the girls at their mom's birthday party. Their hair had been blown out or ironed, and they looked like everyone else. sigh........ They have a choice, too.