I loved Easter as a kid. Not so much the "Jesus died and has risen part". The candy...easter eggs...and getting a new dress part.
Every year around Easter my sisters and I were treated to a shopping spree at Kmart for a new dress and shoes. I was maybe 10 years old when I opted for a ruffled purple gingham dress. And sandals with a hole hollowed out in the heel. Remember those? Like termite shoes but everyone thought they were cool.
Anyway, I looked like a square dancer but, hey it was Easter...gotta be festive, right? The other tradition I kept was donning a special hairstyle for Sunday services. I liked to think my congregation was as excited to see this year's Easter's hairstyle as I was to plan and reveal it.
One special ecoutrement to this year's hairstyle included barrettes intertwined in lavendar and white ribbons. Extra lengths of ribbons cascaded from the barrette...Like a bad May Day pole.
The night before Easter I washed my hair and wrapped it in rollers...tightly. I'm talking twisting the hair tightly before winding it as tight as I could onto the roller. Small rollers too...I wanted tiny ringlets for celebrating Christ's resurrection.
The next morning as I got ready for church, I stood and stared at myself in the mirror as I removed the rollers. I unclipped the pink roller and released the hair. Upon release...the hair was so tightly curled, it wouldn't unfurl from my scalp. Each roller had the same result...I'd release the hair...and it would sit atop my scalp in a twisted ball.
I had a head of escargot.
Panicked, I attempted to comb through the hair hoping the curls would relax...No such luck. It was at this point of discovering how awful my hair situation was that my brother came up to the doorway and died laughing. After punching him in the chest, I slammed and locked the bathroom door muting his shocked cries of pain. I didn't need his bullshit...No Siree...Especially on Easter...in this time of crisis.
I knew I was desperate when I sought hair advice from my mother. The self professed perm/frosted highlight queen. "Oh, just put it in a ponytail! The curls will look like a bun!" she said. I think it was the only time I felt my mother was genius. "But the barrettes! What to do with those?" I asked... "Clip them next to the pony tail."
Fucking Genius. And it worked. I pulled all the hair back into a high ponytail...and mom was right. All those tight curls just formed themselves into a neat little bun. Ribbons flowing freely from the sides....
I went to church and basked in my hair glory. Glory to God. Glory to my hair. Tis a happy day indeed...
See ya....
Totally remember termite shoes.
ReplyDeleteI had waist-length hair for most of my childhood and my mother would always keep it in two long french braids. I learned that I could whip my head around fast and smack my brothers with a thick braid and thus being able to deny, "Did you hit your brother?"
Haha i remember my daughter India experienced the same thing when her niece made little dots in her wet hair. When it all dried up, i untied her dots to look at her with fear, she looked like friggin Shirley Temple, without the ballroomdress! Tears flooded as she tought it would stay like this forever. She cried and i comforted her, shaking with laughter she then tought was mom crying too. Just washed her hair and it looked normal again. She loved me so much for saving her hair and look back then.
ReplyDeleteDominica
I was lucky. I got to wear powder blue oversized suit that I would grow into.
ReplyDeleteSounds like a new church dedication...
ReplyDelete"Glory to the father, the son, the sweet bun atop my head, to the dress that fit well, to my new shoes, and... uh... oh yeah. Mary too."
I once fell asleep as a kid with gum in my mouth. Predictable results. I didn't have a super-improvisatory mom though. Just a grandma with scissors.