For as long as I can remember, I loved writing stories. It seemed like a good time for a Throw Back Thursday story. This was written on December 20, 1977 for Ms. Stangl’s fifth hour Advanced Composition class and earned me an A.
When I was little I had very long hair. On Saturday nights my mom would roll it into banana curls.
Before the haircut
During the summer before I started kindergarten, my mom decided that it was too much trouble to try and com all the snarls out of my thick hair and get me to school on time. I went to the “Magic Mirror” to get my first hair cut. It was a bad experience. The lady cut all of my hair with a razor blade and it hurt. I kept trying to pull away and it hurt even more. The lady would yell at me and I ended up crying. Once it was over with, I didn’t care what it looked like, I was glad it was over and I vowed never to go again.
Mother got her way however, and I got my hair cut short every few months until I was almost twelve. All the other girls were letting their hair grow long and my mom said I could too. Whenever I thought of my hair, I envisioned long, silky dark hair, like the girls on my conditioner box. I used to wash my hair and put rubber bands around it so it would be straight instead of fuzzy. I went to “Haircut House” to get my hair professionally styled and instead I came out with an afro. I cried for days after that.
Clearly the rubber band idea wasn’t working
Finally, when I was sixteen, I realized that long hair wasn’t for me. I got it cut and wore it without a part and with bangs. During the summer I got it cut again and parted it down the middle.
This year, I part it on the side with bangs. I’ve finally found a hair stylist that understands that my hair has more than it’s share of thickness and body. Usually when I get my hair cut, I hate it and vow never to go to the same place again.