It's a round-about story...
...that starts before I was even born.
It starts with my dad, actually, who contracted polio when he was in his early 20s and lost the use of his right arm.
Fastforward to my early childhood. Two girls, ages 4 and 2. Both tomboys. Both with very long hair (mine was to my waist by the time I was four). One stay-at-home dad who only had use of one arm.
Dad insisted to Mom one day that she take my sister and me in for a haircut. And I don't mean a trim. Dad insisted that if he was going to be responsible for us while Mom was at work, he had to be able to brush and "fix" our hair. Ever try to put hair into a braid or pony tail with only one hand?
After much protesting and screaming on our parts, (in my own defense, I was convinced that cutting my hair would cause it to hurt and bleed), my sister and I got our hair chopped. LOL My sister and I had the androgynous look down before it was ever in fashion.
This continued for several years until my sister and I were finally old enough to take care of our own hair and were finally allowed to let it grow out.
Fastforward again to today.
I called my mom today to thank her for listening to Dad when he insisted she get my hair chopped off. She asked what suddenly brought this on, so I had to explain...
A woman and her four-year-old daughter came into the clinic today. The little girl was about to start pre-school and needed a physical. The girl was...well...she was an absolute mess. Her hair was probably long enough to reach the small of her back, but I couldn't be certain. See, most of it was tangled (and probably matted in places) to the back of her head. The mother said that the little girl wouldn't LET HER brush it. (Makes one wonder just who is in charge of the household, but that's beside the point.)
One look at that little girl and I had immediately flashed back to my own childhood and my tantrum over that very first haircut.
I said to Mom, "Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for listening to Dad all those years ago."
All she could do was laugh.
Later in the day I had to call my sister and tell her the story. We both wondered for a moment what would have happened if either of us had said, "You're not brushing my hair today." It didn't take us long to agree that, at the very least, there would have been spankings. One thing would have been certain, though. We both heartily agreed that we would never have said something so utterly stupid to either of our parents Ever Again.
So, tonight, on the eve of what would have been my dad's 78th birthday, I remember the man who, even though I didn't realize it at the time, really did have my best interests at heart.
It starts with my dad, actually, who contracted polio when he was in his early 20s and lost the use of his right arm.
Fastforward to my early childhood. Two girls, ages 4 and 2. Both tomboys. Both with very long hair (mine was to my waist by the time I was four). One stay-at-home dad who only had use of one arm.
Dad insisted to Mom one day that she take my sister and me in for a haircut. And I don't mean a trim. Dad insisted that if he was going to be responsible for us while Mom was at work, he had to be able to brush and "fix" our hair. Ever try to put hair into a braid or pony tail with only one hand?
After much protesting and screaming on our parts, (in my own defense, I was convinced that cutting my hair would cause it to hurt and bleed), my sister and I got our hair chopped. LOL My sister and I had the androgynous look down before it was ever in fashion.
This continued for several years until my sister and I were finally old enough to take care of our own hair and were finally allowed to let it grow out.
Fastforward again to today.
I called my mom today to thank her for listening to Dad when he insisted she get my hair chopped off. She asked what suddenly brought this on, so I had to explain...
A woman and her four-year-old daughter came into the clinic today. The little girl was about to start pre-school and needed a physical. The girl was...well...she was an absolute mess. Her hair was probably long enough to reach the small of her back, but I couldn't be certain. See, most of it was tangled (and probably matted in places) to the back of her head. The mother said that the little girl wouldn't LET HER brush it. (Makes one wonder just who is in charge of the household, but that's beside the point.)
One look at that little girl and I had immediately flashed back to my own childhood and my tantrum over that very first haircut.
I said to Mom, "Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for listening to Dad all those years ago."
All she could do was laugh.
Later in the day I had to call my sister and tell her the story. We both wondered for a moment what would have happened if either of us had said, "You're not brushing my hair today." It didn't take us long to agree that, at the very least, there would have been spankings. One thing would have been certain, though. We both heartily agreed that we would never have said something so utterly stupid to either of our parents Ever Again.
So, tonight, on the eve of what would have been my dad's 78th birthday, I remember the man who, even though I didn't realize it at the time, really did have my best interests at heart.