When I was a very little girl, I remember obsessing over little things. I was very driven by visual images, imagination, and creativity. A product of the Renaissance ear in the early 1980’s. In my mind’s eye, I see it, the bouncy curls. Their texture thick and soft. Their color chestnut brown and highlighted with bits of auburn. Next to my hair, straight, dark brown, and long…
The grass is always greener in another pasture is how the saying goes.
And oh was it greener in Debbie’s hair pasture. I loved her curls, I was envious of them. I used to sleep with curlers in my hair over night and the next day I’d be ecstatic over what our mom called, “Shirley Temple,” curls.
I’ll never forget the day Dad picked me up from a neighbor’s house with Debbie in the car. The black and tan van pulled into the driveway and Debbie slid the back door open. I took a step towards the car and began to step in without noticing my sister. And then I stopped and started to grin, her hair was sticking straight out all over and poofed so to speak. Being the bratty-mc.-brattersville of a sister I snickered and made some comment as sister’s do.
Poor thing. She’d blown her hair dry. Naturally curly hair + blow dryers on high= disaster. For the next few days I continually giggled about it.
But you see, now I can look back and recognize, how special it is that I can recall these silly moments in time. Seemingly inconsequential and yet, all the more relevant right now.
Perhaps you’ll have red hair when it grows back? Maybe it’ll flow and curl ever so softly with a gentle wave. None the less. It’ll be yours and Grandma’s genes for curls will always be with you. I love you. Not your hair. But the memory of it and all the crazy styles, I cherish ever so much.
Sparkle on big sis. I love you always.