I recently received an invitation to a “Baby Shower–Goddess Party” where the host invited her guests to share one significant story or insight from her own personal experience that makes her most appreciative and joyful about being a woman. I thought, cool, that’s something new that I had never done for a baby shower before. At first I thought it would be difficult to choose which story to tell, because I have many. But, then, one story jumped right to the front of the line. So, I thought I’d go ahead and share it here as well.
When I was thirteen years old I had hippy hair. You know, the long straight hair, down to my waist, all one length, parted right down the middle kind of hippy hair. My cousins even nicknamed me “Hippy”. My hair had been like that for most of my life up to that point. That is until one Saturday morning when I decided I wanted a change. I was ready to take that big step and move into the realm of “style”.
Well, this was big news to my mom. This called for a trip back to the old neighborhood where her longtime good friend Maria had her beauty shop, Maria’s Salon. I had never had my hair cut in a salon before, so this was a milestone event for me in that sense. I was a little nervous. Ok, a lot nervous.
We walked into the salon and it was packed with women. Every hair stylist was busy turning ordinary women into super models – well, at least in their own minds maybe. It was loud with female chatter. Maria walked up and greeted me with a big cheesy smile attempting to make me feel comfortable. It really DID NOT help.
She brought me over to her chair, sat me down and we began our back and forth dialog to determine what I wanted done to my hair. She then began to comb all of the knots out of my hair, which were many, since grooming was not a high priority on my list yet. I was too active with sports to be concerned about that sort of silly stuff. I usually just put my hair in a ponytail and went about my day. Anyway, as she was combing my hair she suddenly gasped and began saying something in Spanish, which I didn’t understand. She motioned to my mother and other women to come over to have a look at what she found in my hair. I just sat there watching these women making a big deal about something in my hair, but nobody was telling me what it was. I kept asking, “What? What is it?!” They were laughing, and making jokes, and patting me on the head telling me, “If anybody can fix this problem Maria can!” Then they all walked back to their stations, and mom back to her chair in the waiting area. I was baffled. Maria proceeded to pluck a hair from my tender scalp and dangled a 15” long, pure white strand in front of my face. “Here you go sweetie, your first gray hair.” My jaw dropped as I reached up and took hold of it.
I was mesmerized by this single strand of hair. I kept staring at it and wondered what could have caused me to have a gray hair at such a young age. My mind wandered off into deep thought about all of the things that had happened to me in my short 13 years of life that could have caused this. Many painful things, things that were more than a little girl should have to bare, things that others new nothing about, things that stole away my childhood, things that I vowed I would carry to my grave. I pondered long, asking myself, “Is this what this gray hair represents?” I looked around the room at the other women and began to wonder what kind of things they had experienced, because there was lots of gray hair all over. Some were hiding it with color, while others seemed to wear it like a badge of honor.
I was so engulfed in my thoughts that I wasn’t even paying any attention to Maria chopping away at my hair, drying it, and curling it. I was stuck someplace back in time. Then I heard this voice calling out my name like it was coming from a long distance away, but it was Maria bringing me back into the present moment to show me my new hairstyle. I snapped out of my dream state and looked up at myself in the mirror. There I was, the new me, with my new Farrah Fawcett feathered hair. My hands immediately cupped my mouth in amazement. I gasped with tickled joy. I loved it! Then Maria called out to the other ladies to have a look. They turned and began to do their ooohs and aaaaahs, and offer their supportive comments. Even the older lady sitting under the loud cone head hair dryer pulled off the giant bowl, walked over and said how beautiful I was.
In that very moment I realized that I had become part of the greater society of womanhood -- The camaraderie of sisterhood, the chums of common ground, the missionaries of goodness. I somehow felt different. I stood a little straighter and looked a little taller, especially with my puffy new hair. I was a young woman.
When I was thirteen years old I had hippy hair. You know, the long straight hair, down to my waist, all one length, parted right down the middle kind of hippy hair. My cousins even nicknamed me “Hippy”. My hair had been like that for most of my life up to that point. That is until one Saturday morning when I decided I wanted a change. I was ready to take that big step and move into the realm of “style”.
Well, this was big news to my mom. This called for a trip back to the old neighborhood where her longtime good friend Maria had her beauty shop, Maria’s Salon. I had never had my hair cut in a salon before, so this was a milestone event for me in that sense. I was a little nervous. Ok, a lot nervous.
We walked into the salon and it was packed with women. Every hair stylist was busy turning ordinary women into super models – well, at least in their own minds maybe. It was loud with female chatter. Maria walked up and greeted me with a big cheesy smile attempting to make me feel comfortable. It really DID NOT help.
She brought me over to her chair, sat me down and we began our back and forth dialog to determine what I wanted done to my hair. She then began to comb all of the knots out of my hair, which were many, since grooming was not a high priority on my list yet. I was too active with sports to be concerned about that sort of silly stuff. I usually just put my hair in a ponytail and went about my day. Anyway, as she was combing my hair she suddenly gasped and began saying something in Spanish, which I didn’t understand. She motioned to my mother and other women to come over to have a look at what she found in my hair. I just sat there watching these women making a big deal about something in my hair, but nobody was telling me what it was. I kept asking, “What? What is it?!” They were laughing, and making jokes, and patting me on the head telling me, “If anybody can fix this problem Maria can!” Then they all walked back to their stations, and mom back to her chair in the waiting area. I was baffled. Maria proceeded to pluck a hair from my tender scalp and dangled a 15” long, pure white strand in front of my face. “Here you go sweetie, your first gray hair.” My jaw dropped as I reached up and took hold of it.
I was mesmerized by this single strand of hair. I kept staring at it and wondered what could have caused me to have a gray hair at such a young age. My mind wandered off into deep thought about all of the things that had happened to me in my short 13 years of life that could have caused this. Many painful things, things that were more than a little girl should have to bare, things that others new nothing about, things that stole away my childhood, things that I vowed I would carry to my grave. I pondered long, asking myself, “Is this what this gray hair represents?” I looked around the room at the other women and began to wonder what kind of things they had experienced, because there was lots of gray hair all over. Some were hiding it with color, while others seemed to wear it like a badge of honor.
I was so engulfed in my thoughts that I wasn’t even paying any attention to Maria chopping away at my hair, drying it, and curling it. I was stuck someplace back in time. Then I heard this voice calling out my name like it was coming from a long distance away, but it was Maria bringing me back into the present moment to show me my new hairstyle. I snapped out of my dream state and looked up at myself in the mirror. There I was, the new me, with my new Farrah Fawcett feathered hair. My hands immediately cupped my mouth in amazement. I gasped with tickled joy. I loved it! Then Maria called out to the other ladies to have a look. They turned and began to do their ooohs and aaaaahs, and offer their supportive comments. Even the older lady sitting under the loud cone head hair dryer pulled off the giant bowl, walked over and said how beautiful I was.
In that very moment I realized that I had become part of the greater society of womanhood -- The camaraderie of sisterhood, the chums of common ground, the missionaries of goodness. I somehow felt different. I stood a little straighter and looked a little taller, especially with my puffy new hair. I was a young woman.
This is the only decent picture I could find with me and my Farrah Fawcett hairdo. Unfortunately, I have a hat on. LOL!
I didn't quite look like Farrah, did I? LOL!
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Please share this post with others - Thanks! Melanie Banayat
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6 comments:
I so love this story. Thanks for sharing.
I love this. Thank you!
hahahahaha....your so weird mom! poofy hair! oh...chase found a gray hair on me! O_o
hahahahah....don't pull it out Mikhaila!
I enjoyed this funny story because I had such an awkward introduction to womanhood. I think it took me until college to finally realize what it's like to be a woman. And I may be a woman now, but I just might be awkward for the rest of my life.
I think awkward is simply a part of life -- we all walk with a certain degree of awkwardness even if we appear to be confident. At least that's my story, and I'm stickin' to it!
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