_{^{~Groovin' With Soccamom~}}

When I was in college, my roommate's best friend used to do my hair. She had taken the vocational classes during high school and then worked part time in a salon before college. They were both very cool gals and the stylist was so pretty that I loved being a part of their lives. She was pretty in that sweet, blonde, Hoosier-girl sort of way which is hard to explain but I know what I mean. The blonde girl all the boys like but all the girls like too. In the not too innocent but still respectable sort of way. That part is irrelevant; I dont know why I included it. Anyhow, she used to trim the ends, reshape it when necessary and once a year-perm it. (I told you I was an 80's-big-hair-Hooiser-girl, didn't I?) My hair was about mid-back at the time and it took hours to roll it and process it, but boy did it hold a curl, which is why I only had it done once a year. It was always fun,though because even when those two and another gal got an apartment together off campus it would be like a little girly party when I would get my hair done. Then one day Kristi, the stylist, said something that knocked my socks off. She said to us that whenever she heard the phrase "crowning glory" she thought of my hair.

I believe that certain events that occur during critical stages of one's development can shape a person's thinking and perceptions to a point whereas even upon being faced with a truth or with an alternate viewpoint, one may not be able to recognize it. Case in point:

When I was young, I didn't have any control or input over my hair. As a toddler I got an annual "pixie cut" each summer but then when school started I don't remember having my hair cut at all until fourth or fifth grade when I got a hot comb stuck in it and received instant bangs. Thus by the time I was in 8th grade my hair was nearly long enough to sit on, though I couldn't vouch for the health of it.

At that time, my best friend also had very long dark hair and decided to get it cut in a wedge...you remember the D_ rothy H_mill wedge, dont you? Oh, the raves she got! Oh the attention! Why did she cut her beautiful long hair?! Her hair was beautiful while long, but this sleek, silky little cap of hair was so complimetry to her features and the style was so "in" and she looked great. The green-eyed monster and I decided that we should have some of this hair cutting attention too so off we went to the salon for a bob. We didnt go nearly as drastic as a wedge, but we (the green-eyed monster and I) figured that many inches would cause enough of a stir to appease us.

What the monster and I didn't take in to account is that I didn't have a foundation of healthy shiny hair. I was in my pubescent ugly phase and my hair had gotten coarse and frizzy. My shoulder length bob resulted in a Rosanne rosanna Danna-looking wild and teary-eyed creature staring back at me from the hideous glass. It was also a time where acne took a firm hold on my face and I spent the next 3 years crying at every painful glance in the mirror and no one said a word about my hair cut. I have one school picture that looks like I am wearing a steel wool box on my head and have been beaten about the face with an awl.

The next phase was the Farrah flip. That came during the last couple years of High School. The back of my hair was still pretty wiry but oh the funky flips I got with my feathered hair. One hottie for sure. At least I didn't have to see it from the back. Until one hot day just before prom when I couldnt get my "feathers" to go right and headed to the nearest barber shop...yes barber shop. Why was I so stupid? I came back with some sort of modified mullett instead of trimmed "feathers." Thus sometimes the best way out of a bad situation is to fight fire with fire and a bad haircut with clippers. That summer I got a crew cut.

Ok, it wasnt a crew cut in the sense that there was no flat top, but I did get it shaved to about half an inch all over with one sweeping whisp along the side in a sweeping plume. (Remember...80s Hoosier girl...on some level I cant be held responsible.)

The years rolled by and I guess with the big curly perm I was able to not process so much more of my hair that got some time to relax and recouperate. That was also the time I felt really sexy and free. That was "the hair" for me. I also firmly believe in seven year cycles and the fact that the most horriffic of times was when I was 14 and some of the better times started at 21 are no coincidence to me. Even so, I've always secretly...well, not so secretly, harbored a wish to have long silky hair just one more time before I reach the age where I would feel ridiculous with long hair.

I'm a total hair maniac, just ask my family. When I say I want a trim, I mean a quarter of an inch or less and if I can see that its shorter I whine incessantly till I can get it restyled to my liking. Although there have been times that I've required a couple of inches and I have been ok with the fact as long as it was my own idea, but I usually stick with the minimal approach.

When we moved here I was in quite a quandry as to what to do by way of a stylist. One of my new friends here is a stylist but if you'd see her own hair you would understand why I choose not to patronize her. I've always felt that if they should self advertise by how they look.

Then one day while at the grocery check out, one of the young pretty blondes working there told me I had perfect hair. Really very, very flattering. Just as I am closing in on the no long hair age I feel finally ready to accept a compliment like that with a bit more grace. I have something that actually feels like hair in a style that although it is fairly reminiscent of the farrah flip, I am comfortable with.

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This wasn't at all meant to be a "look at how beautiful my hair is" post. But rather a journey as to why I am a little neurotic about my hair. I was a dowdy, acne ridden teen with bad hair and unfashionable clothes. I dont have pretty feet or hands and feel otherwise unremarkable for the most part so that if this one part of me seems to finally start looking nice really makes me feel good.
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