Musings on Aging (part two): Hair today, Gone tomorrow

From the very beginning, hair, or lack of it, has been my problem! I recently looked thru’ an old photo album that had a few pics of me as an infant, toddler and into early childhood. Interestingly, almost every photo showed me with a cap or hat of some sort on my head. No thick mass of hair on this baby at birth—let’s be charitable and say there were only a few stray wisps visible and things didn’t get a whole lot better as I grew up.

The hair that did eventually appear was fine, thin and straighter than string. Add in a couple of cowlicks and a small scar from a swing accident and you get the picture! What a disappointment for my Mother who adored the child actress Shirley Temple and had looked forward to brushing the curly tresses of her own daughter. But, that was not meant to be. Undaunted, she tried her best to create what nature failed to give.

When I was in third grade, she took me to her hairdreser who ran her business from her home. My hair was duly prepared by the beautician for my first permanent and once rolled on rods, a helmet (connected to an electric machine) was placed atop my head, the timer was set and off she and my mother went to the other room to chat. I became aware of the impending disaster when I could smell my hair start to burn, but having been raised to NEVER ACT UP IN PUBLIC, I began weeping as quietly as possible. Suddenly, the beautician rushed in, immediately unplugged the contraption and apologized profusely for having overset the timer. Suffice to say, I luckily did not have scalp burns but that was the day when I received my first pixie cut—a trend by the way that would take years to catch on with the general public! Now wouldn’t one think that episode would have been the end of trying to make me curly-headed? No indeed, for a couple of years later, home permanents became the rage and one company came out with one, “gentle enough for children.” Yep—you guessed it—Mother bought one and I was subjected to yet another attempt to give me curls. That outcome did not bring about the desired effect either but it did bring about an acceptance that I would never have a thick body of hair.

When I was in my mid 20’s, I had shoulder-length mousy brown hair and once we moved to California, I got caught up in the fashion of the day and decided to take on a new look. My stylist gave me a “heavy frosting” in a color called “champagne beige”, then styled me with an upsweep with a chignon. Wow—when I stepped out of that salon I felt on top of the world. What a stunning color! What a transformation! I was a California silvery blonde and with the upsweep, it gave me the illusion of having a lot of hair. My ears were visible on purpose—not sticking out of clumps of hair! My first clue that maybe I was overly optimistic in my personal assessment was when I went and picked up my then three year old son who was in the base nursery while I was in the salon. As I greeted him with open arms, he screamed “get away from me, you are not my mommy!” Shortly thereafter, my Mother flew out to visit and her first words to me on the tarmac as we greeted each other was “what on earth did you do to your hair and why would you deliberately want to look so much older?” Fortunately, my beloved better-half always took my escapades in stride and was my salvation and comforter.

During the ensuing decades, I did have fun with different styles and coloring but now we are up to the present times and the truth is I have gone from “thin” hair to almost no hair. Vanity still runs strong within me, so I decided the time had come for a wig. I googled, measured, consulted on hair color and ordered one online. It took forever and once again, my anticipation ran high. When it finally arrived in a very flat package, I was shocked to find a very choppy, poorly styled and erroneous-sized mass of hair that made the wigs from the prop department from my old high school look like high fashion by comparison. That began an ongoing e-mail correspondence with the seller. Turns out to be a company located apparently somewhere in a remote part of the world as I was told it would cost me $80.00 in mailing charges just to return it. Obviously, a translator is interpreting our discussions with one another and I am still waiting for a partial refund. It is of course a classic “buyer beware” but I am actually seeing the humor of our emails and am determined to not let go of the matter.

Apparently, I have inherited my mother’s tenancity-genes because I consulted with my stylist and a wig person and am now awaiting delivery of a wig from a more reputable company. If you see me with “new hair”, don’t be surprised. But If you see me with more of my scalp and less hair, then you will know I have simply conceded to nature.

I came “into” this world nearly bald, and will no doubt “leave” it the same way. Hence, Hair today, gone tomorrow!