Hair, by Betsy

Since there is virtually no one left above ground who was there and able to remember when I was a newborn babe, I will have to resort to photos.  I am quite sure I was born with no hair at all.  When some finally grew in as a toddler my hair was a color that now many women I know pay big money for; i.e., blond, really blond and evenly blond.

This did not last long. In early and middle childhood; i.e., second grade through puberty, my hair was what was commonly referred to as dish-water blond. I remember my mother, who was a brunette from birth, rinsing my hair with lemon juice hoping it would lighten a bit, or at least she hoped the citrus solution would keep it from going to the dark side.

Like many girls at the time I also had braids.  On very special occasions, when I put on my velvet dress with the lace collar and Mary Janes, my mother would make “rolls” above my ears before braiding. When I had rolls, I knew I had to be on my best behavior.

As adolescent girls and young women we did spend a lot of time and energy on making our hair what we thought at the time was presentable. Getting a permanent wave required enduring several hours of discomfort—bordering torture.  But those of us with straight hair felt compelled to do something to give our hair some pizazz.

We employed many kinds of tools and devises to curl our hair. We wrapped wads of hair around old socks and tied them to hold the hair on the sock until it curled. So-called curlers came in all shapes and forms besides the socks. sponges, wire sausage shaped objects, etc. We would go to bed with these things on our heads—regardless of the pain inflicted while trying to sleep.

After the hormones kicked in my hair did darken steadily until late middle age when it became a dark brown. Now, guess what.  It’s going full circle, back to its original colorless form.

 I know many, many women of my age group who refuse to reveal that they have any gray hairs. They go through the monthly ritual at the hair salon enduring hours of treatment costing lots of dollars to do this. I have never been able to understand that because I know some women whose white hair is quite beautiful.  I suspect there are men who do the same cover-up.

Some societies value and revere the signs of old age. Not here. But I suspect our corporate, capitalistic culture has a lot to do with it.

I can make the claim in all honestly that I have never put much effort or resources into making my hair look like something it was not—except for the lemon juice, which really was non-effective, a couple of permanent waves out of a bottle, and the socks.

And that’s all I have to say about MY hair.

© 22 Jan 2016 

About the Author 

 Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading, writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.