When I was younger my mother
would take me (unwillingly)
to get my haircut
and would ask her hairdresser
(yes, that’s what they were called)
to give me a pixie.
God, I hated how short my hair was.
And after washing my hair,
my mother would smoodge it
(yes, I made that word up)
to give it this strange wave
on the top of my head.
I would have done ANYTHING
for glorious, straight blond hair.
And a tan.
For a fair-skinned freckled
redhead preteen with glasses,
this pixie was
a fate worse than death.
And I swore when I had my own kids
I’d let them have their hair.
So far I’ve held up my end of the bargain.
This is what I love about poetry…the ability to say so much in so few words.
Same, same, same…never understood why my hair was so important to my mom!
-Another 50 Something
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As a dark-ish curly girl, I feel this on so many levels. My mom made me have short short hair until I decided to grow it out in high school. Haven’t looked back since. Thank you for this beautiful slice. =)
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Ahh, moms and hair! I can so relate to this! My mom still comments on my hair LOL, telling me when she thinks I need a trim :-).
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Our hair really does have lay such a big role in our lives! I see so many pictures of me as a teen and wonder why my mom didn’t help me out! LOL But I suppose she was dealing with her own issues.
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