My nemesis, my hair: conquered!

I always wanted to be a girl with a swingy ponytail. You know: the kind on those women you see running and it swings back and forth behind their heads as if they really were independent tails with movement all their own?  I was always jealous of that.

Growing up, I always had short hair. My Mom says that it's because my hair was so thick and tangled easily so I would scream and cry whenever she tried to comb out my hair. So she always kept it short to avoid the drama.  Granted, she did give me some cute styles. But I didn't have the little ponytails or braids that Julie or Kristin did in the neighborhood.  I wanted those.   And Mom was very fond of the home permanents back then too (it was the 70s afterall) and every other year I had a head of not only short hair, but short messy curls of hair. One of the stories she likes to tell me is that once when I was young and in Philadelphia with some relatives a stranger mentioned I looked like a little Shirley Temple. Apparently he even asked me if I could sing and dance or something like her.  I don't have a memory of this.  I had no idea who Shirley Temple was but I'm sure if I did remember that, I would have felt a kindred with her, sure that she must have wanted to have long ponytails too instead of the mess we apparently shared.

As I grew older and Mom was no longer making my hair style decisions, I was in the unfortunate timeline of being a high school girl in the Midwest in the 80s.  When it took almost a full quarter can of Aqua Net each day to maintain one's winged-out and banged-up hair each morning, nothing was going to swing and bounce.  I had the high-teased claw of a bang and weird wingy-things sprayed to an inch of their fabricated lives around my ears (to show off the 5 different pierced earrings I wore each day, of course - three in the right and two in the left).  And though I tried to grow it,  it all still never got longer than about shoulder length.  How could it with all that teasing and breaking and chemicals afterall?

By my Junior year in high school, some of my friends started abandoning that (now) crazy look for something more natural.  Kelly cut hers into a cute soft little cut, Vani was the first to grow out her bangs for an all-one-length look I coveted, and Laura had that thick long hair that actually *moved* behind her on her shoulders even if her bangs rivaled mine some days.

Looking back now, it's entirely too amazing how much my hair defined me and how much it affected my self-esteem.  I sent away for those crackass useless solutions found in the back of catalogs that promised longer, stronger hair if you only combed this liquid into it daily.  And I did, religiously, to no avail.  Remembering the texture of that solution now, I'm pretty sure it was just scented water or something. I also tried deep conditioning masks on my hair and wondered why they weren't working when I was still continuing to tease the crap out of it all with the White Rain and hairdryer on the hottest setting each morning.  It was unfair.  If only Mom would have let me have long hair when I was younger, I would have never gotten to this place!  I'd have that long, bouncy tail by now!

When I got to college it changed a little, but I still never had that hair.  Thankfully, the Midwest caught up with the rest of the country by then and the age of the big teased hair went away with the 80s hair bands that inspired and glorified it.   But to get over all the damage I'd previously done to my poor head, my hair was cut off  and growing out.  I could barely make little pigtails, let alone the swingy pony I wanted.  The ones that Jenna and Jody and Ona had?  Unfair.  Who knew a ponytail was so difficult anyway?

The irony came by the end of college: I finally managed to grow my hair long and healthy again, but it *hurt* to do anything with it.  It was so full and thick --something I know is not a curse, but sure felt like it; still does to this day sometimes-- that I'd break barrettes putting them in and if I wore a rubber band, it would have to be at the base of my neck because if  I did it up high, my head would start to ache in about 20 minutes.  And ponies at the base of your neck? Totally don't bounce and swing.  I was beginning to think I was destined to be doomed forever.

When I became a "real" adult with a "real" job, I then fell back into Mom's philosophy that adult, working women didn't have long hair, so I cut it all off again on her advice. Regretting it, I spent years growing it back.  Fortunately for me this time (as opposed to back in the 80s), there were visions of many successful professional women with long hair too and I began to realize it was OK to have long hair even after you were a schoolchild (even if Mom did ask me, every time I came to visit, "when are you going to cut your hair?"). I had cute cuts. I rocked "The Rachel" just as well as she did; had other women tell me they loved my styles over the years.  But I still never got to have my swingy ponytail.  I daresay I went overboard at times trying to make up for it. I had just as many horribly messy styles as I did good ones.  Sometimes I still think that a woman my age probably should not have hair as long as I do, but I still can't bear to cut it because I know I'm still compensating somehow.  Today it's longer than I've probably ever had it in my life (and I'm going to bet right now Mom will absolutely hate it when she sees it again!) but I just can't bear to cut it.

This past Tuesday it was storming quite badly so I decided to hit the gym instead of walking around the park as my usual plan is on Tuesdays.  Thankfully I've gotten into a healthy pattern of having a well-packed gym bag in my car should this ever happen.  I hit the locker room, tied my hair up high for a change (we have better rubber bands and barrettes that don't break now for girls with thicker hair than back then) and grabbed me a treadmill with one of those little TV screens on it. I tuned that into the news that I watched on closed caption while I listened to my iTunes with my headphones and just started walking my heart out at a crazy fast speed.  And I couldn't have been more surprised or filled with more glee when the TV screen faded to black between commercials and I saw a darkened reflection of myself on there:  my ponytail on the back of my head? Was swinging away, back and forth behind my head as if it really was an independent tail with a life of its own.

I'm her now! Finally, I'm THAT girl with that swingy, healthy bouncy tail: the one I always wanted to be.  It's entirely irrational how happy that makes me. And most likely means one thing.

I'll probably cut it all off soon.  :-)