I have got wild hair.
After I was a child, my hair had been a nuisance. It tangled easily and so i hated it when my mother helped me sit still for which sounded like hours so she could comb it all out. The comb would catch a knot and pull at my scalp, bringing tears to my eyes and howls of protests. Far worse, strangers we met on the street desired to run their fingers through my hair. I still detest my kindergarten teacher because she would comb my curls together fingers every morning whenever i arrived for class. I became excellent at hiding behind other children whenever we entered the entrance, to try to elude her keen eyes.
As a teenager, my curly hair was the bane of my existence. I desperately wanted silky long straight hair like my buddies. They wore shoulder-length bobs that seemed to float during the wind, silky strands of (mostly) blond beauty that I coveted with all of my being. Or they pulled their hair last smooth pony tails that bounced gracefully with each step they took.
My hair was actually a mess of thick ringlets, each coil doing just what it planned to do - bouncing off in the direction i always had no control of. At some point, I grew a pony tail, pulling it back as straight because i could, holding my breath and clenching my teeth against the pain when i pulled the strands back as hard when i could. I needed bangs like my pals thus i would smooth globs of hair product in my bangs, tape them down across my forehead and paste them in place using the hair drier. Once I removed the tape, the bangs stayed where they had been, thick strands of dark brown spaghetti plastered across my forehead.
But alas! Inside an hour the 1st hairs would begin to escape the ponytail, falling in curly whorls across my cheeks. By mid-morning, more curls would join them, some deciding to head up, down or across. In regards to the time I sat down for lunch, the glue on my small bangs would give way and they also would bounce upwards to participate the remainder of my curly mop. Once I finally shut down the ponytail and went returning to curly bob, my friends sighed in relief and explained to me exactly how much better I looked.
Like a young adult, I not merely got to terms with my curly hair but learned to savor it to the easy care it provided me. I kept it short and called it "wash and wear" hair. I even began to experience the compliments I would personally get utilizing women on my own easy care hair. Then I gave birth to a daughter who was born with red curls. If the nurse brought her with me, she had tied a blue ribbon around a few of the top curls and she was, without doubt, the most beautiful child from the nursery. I forgot about my early fight with my curls and was unprepared when she reached her teens and began the identical odyssey that I had endured.
Like me, she fought her curls and worked even harder than I needed at attempting to tame her hair and force it in to the long straight varieties of her classmates. And just like me, she was obviously a young adult before she realized how beautiful her strawberry blonde ringlets were and began to allow the curls to cascade to her shoulders in a natural way that, to this day, elicits words of admiration from friends, family and strangers.
Now she carries a daughter, our granddaughter, who turned eight last month. And yes, she has wild hair you will find, she hates it. However, our granddaughter ("S") is a component African-American so her curls are tighter than her mother's and her grandmother's and her hair has a different texture. It tangles very easily and its challenging to comb out. And, you guessed it, she desperately wants long, smooth shoulder- length hair!
My daughter has taken "S" for the beauty shop many times to try to get her hair combed out though the experience has ended up with "S" in tears and her hair still in tangles. Finally my daughter brought her to the beauty shop who specializes in styling African-American women's hair as well as for her birthday, she had an appointment within the shop. And I was invited along.
First, the stylist had to find the knots out. This became a long, arduous process that involved getting a s
As a teenager, my curly hair was the bane of my existence. I desperately wanted silky long straight hair like my buddies. They wore shoulder-length bobs that seemed to float during the wind, silky strands of (mostly) blond beauty that I coveted with all of my being. Or they pulled their hair last smooth pony tails that bounced gracefully with each step they took.
My hair was actually a mess of thick ringlets, each coil doing just what it planned to do - bouncing off in the direction i always had no control of. At some point, I grew a pony tail, pulling it back as straight because i could, holding my breath and clenching my teeth against the pain when i pulled the strands back as hard when i could. I needed bangs like my pals thus i would smooth globs of hair product in my bangs, tape them down across my forehead and paste them in place using the hair drier. Once I removed the tape, the bangs stayed where they had been, thick strands of dark brown spaghetti plastered across my forehead.
But alas! Inside an hour the 1st hairs would begin to escape the ponytail, falling in curly whorls across my cheeks. By mid-morning, more curls would join them, some deciding to head up, down or across. In regards to the time I sat down for lunch, the glue on my small bangs would give way and they also would bounce upwards to participate the remainder of my curly mop. Once I finally shut down the ponytail and went returning to curly bob, my friends sighed in relief and explained to me exactly how much better I looked.
Like a young adult, I not merely got to terms with my curly hair but learned to savor it to the easy care it provided me. I kept it short and called it "wash and wear" hair. I even began to experience the compliments I would personally get utilizing women on my own easy care hair. Then I gave birth to a daughter who was born with red curls. If the nurse brought her with me, she had tied a blue ribbon around a few of the top curls and she was, without doubt, the most beautiful child from the nursery. I forgot about my early fight with my curls and was unprepared when she reached her teens and began the identical odyssey that I had endured.
Like me, she fought her curls and worked even harder than I needed at attempting to tame her hair and force it in to the long straight varieties of her classmates. And just like me, she was obviously a young adult before she realized how beautiful her strawberry blonde ringlets were and began to allow the curls to cascade to her shoulders in a natural way that, to this day, elicits words of admiration from friends, family and strangers.
Now she carries a daughter, our granddaughter, who turned eight last month. And yes, she has wild hair you will find, she hates it. However, our granddaughter ("S") is a component African-American so her curls are tighter than her mother's and her grandmother's and her hair has a different texture. It tangles very easily and its challenging to comb out. And, you guessed it, she desperately wants long, smooth shoulder- length hair!
My daughter has taken "S" for the beauty shop many times to try to get her hair combed out though the experience has ended up with "S" in tears and her hair still in tangles. Finally my daughter brought her to the beauty shop who specializes in styling African-American women's hair as well as for her birthday, she had an appointment within the shop. And I was invited along.
First, the stylist had to find the knots out. This became a long, arduous process that involved getting a s