I seem like a quiet child who doesn’t get into any trouble, but I used to all the time; but that was only at school. At home I didn’t really do much to get in trouble, except once. I was around ten or eleven and I really wanted to cut my hair, but my mom never let me because she didn’t want to damage my hair and wanted it to get long. I didn’t. That was one of the few things we disagreed on. It was a warm, late september and I was at school waiting for my mom to pick me up, because basketball practice had gotten canceled. I was hanging out with my friend Julianna and Ja’nae and I had an absolutely idiotic thought, “Hey! Maybe I should let my friends cut my hair!” So me being my intolerant, insolent self decided to let them do it. Then they took the scissors and started chopping away at my past-shoulder-length bleach blonde hair. My mother pulled up a couple minutes after they had finished the massacre on my frizzy locks, I through my hood up and trotted off to the van. She didn’t pay much mind to me having my hood up, the sky had looked moody and wanted to let it’s tears fall soon. …show more content…
I trotted down the stairs when she called me for dinner, hat still on, mind you. She gave me a confused look but brushed it off. I was an odd child, after all, so it didn’t bother her much when I did strange stuff, such as this. Everyone just looked at me with an awkward glance as we sat at the table, but still didn’t care to
The big day was finally here! I woke up around four in the morning to get my hair and makeup done. I had stayed in Fort Worth at my aunt’s house, since the lady doing my hair lived closed to her. So already it starts to go bad. The lady called in saying she couldn’t make it because her car broke down, so of course I start freaking out. I needed my hair and makeup done a.s.a.p. so I could be on my way home to Jacksboro. My aunt started to call some people she knew and I waited impatiently starting to do my own make up. Finally, after what seemed like forever another lady
I got dressed as fast as I could so I could make it to Strawberry with my papa. At this time of year in Mississippi weather was always chilly. So I made sure to put on my warm jacket. But in the 1930s no clothes was really warm, we couldn't afford the good jacket that I wanted but at least I wasn't like Cassie who wore ugly clothes. I suddenly thought of Jeremy and I had to make sure he was getting ready. I yelled at the top of my lungs, “JEREMY ARE YOU READY YET? WE HAVE TO GO TO STRAWBERRY TODAY!”
parents, grabbing me by the ears, made me kneel down in front of everybody and
I started to walk across the street to my friend Lacey’s house. Lacey lives just outside Detroit, but like my family, her family comes to the cape for the summer. Our families’ have been friends for about 10 years, but we normally don’t see or talk to each other during the year, only summertime seems to bring us together. Traditionally Lacey and I leave for the beach together, even at age 7 we walked with our mothers, so I knew I had to tell her about this errand before I left for town.
“Listen as your day unfolds. Challenge what the future holds. Try and keep your head up to the sky. Lovers may cause you tears. Go ahead, release your fears. Stand up and be counted. Don't be ashamed to try.”
The majority of my childhood (from when I was about four till I was twelve) was spent at my dad’s car lot and I can still vividly remember a lot of the adventurous times I had there with my little brother. Being at the lot, my mom was never there, and so my dad was always taking care of me. I tended to be a very rebellious child and never really seemed to care about what my dad told me not to be doing; I would constantly get scolded and even whipped at times for doing stupid things. Times like when my dad told me not the cross the fence because there were lots of wasp nest on the other side and I did it anyways, and ended up getting stung five times on and around my face.
It seems unbelievable my oldest is a few days off being a decade old. I know every parent wonders “where has the time gone?” a multitude of times during their children’s childhoods, but as I realize my son is over halfway to 'adulthood' it seems like the time has flown by.
Reading through the whole story "Haircut" , it is not easy to believe that the death of Jim Kendall is really accidental. It is most likely that the incident is a murder.
The instructor of the beauty training school had to lop off these soggy clumps to make my hair even again. "Peter Pan is very popular these days" the instructor assured my mother. I now had bad hair the length of a boy's, with curly bangs that hung at a slant two inches above my eyebrows. I liked the haircut, and it made me actually look forward to my future fame.
Growing up as the only child during this time period, my whole family was extremely protective and strict on rules, as well as on our catholic faith. My family ultimately did not really allow me to have much choice, yes I was given pretty much everything, however, my family did not allow me to do much. By age three I was on a schedule with my grandmother, where I had not only learned my prayers, but recited the rosary with her after lunch and the cartoons on PBS. Food wise, my father continously would reprimand me more many foods I would eat, and why to this day I do not eat them and blame my father. Around the age of two I had gone to Seaworld for my birthday and loved it, by three I would ask for it. However, I did not know it by name, but heard my family refer to the city of San Diego, so I called it San Diego in the best jumbled up mess I could. My mother heard me ask her if she could go to San Diego, and heard it wrong and thought I called her a mexican cuss word. One I will not write, but got her mad enough to wash my mouth out in the tub with a bar of soap. After she stopped, I was in tears and was saying I did not say a bad word, needless to say I was terrified to ever cuss till I got into high school. My mom tells me that apparently I was even afraid to talk to her, for fear that I would get in trouble. During that time I was always seeming to get in trouble. My cousin and me would go play in the garden and make mud pies, or “bird” baths or roly poly oly circus’. The bird baths consisted of plants from my grandmother’s garden, dirt, rocks, water, oranges, and bugs. There was thought behind every object and a buttwooping from our grandmother for making a mess. During this time it seemed all I did was get in trouble and apparently acted out. However, there always as a deep seeded fear to get in trouble, so
I was well-behaved and never questioned my father’s authority, but at a young
I had just started my internship for my CTE program for hairstyling. Friday morning I began dying hair, doing laundry, cleaning and sweeping. I posted about my internship on social media with a photo of the balayage I had just learned with my mother’s expertise. I was very excited to have started my journey as a hairstylist. After I posted about it, A mother of a friend of mine commented and she said, “hmm when do you want to cut and dye my hair?”
I remember wincing as the scissors sliced through my curls and fell to the floor. Not only was 8 inches of my hair gone but, so was a security blanket I hid behind up to that point. In the summer before my sophomore year I decided to get a simple haircut, little did I know that something so elementary would effect me in such a great way. In today’s society, women especially are held to high beauty standards, we're told we should dress a certain and our hair should be long and silky.
Like most kids at one point, I asked my mother if I could dye my hair. And she, very quickly, shut it down and said no, much to my disappointment. She said it was because I was too young, and I told her that was dumb, it was just hair. Now, my Dad didn’t care either way, like most father figures would.
The light from the sun reflects off the pure white wall, illuminating the room. The dust floats, undisturbed by the empty house. This is what I see as I launch myself out the door, into the hot summer air, into the sounds of playing children.