When I was about 11, I decided it was time for a grown up haircut. I culled magazines and found the perfect short, sassy style. I gave it to my mother and asked her to please take me to her salon. I was too old for banana curls and ponytails. I wanted to be mature.
As I sat in the chair of the salon watching my long hair fall to the floor, I had second thoughts. I wanted her to stop. I wanted my hair back. She was making me ugly. I started to cry. As grown up as I tried to be, I couldn’t stop the tears. No matter what the kind women in the salon said, I was now just plain ugly.
Driving home, my mother tried everything. It’s just hair. It will grow back. It makes your blue eyes bluer. Your hair is not in your face anymore. The tears kept coming. As we got closer to home, I began to think that my Dad was going to be so mad at me. He loved my long hair. He used to take pictures of me with my curls and the corsages he would create for me. Not even flowers could make this hair pretty!
When we got home, I slowly dragged myself into the house and went to face my Dad. He was standing on the deck with my Mom and they both turned to look at me. My Dad was always a man of few words. He looked me in the eye and said, “Stay right there. Let me get my camera.”
Throughout the afternoon, he picked me flowers, took pictures of the new me (his words), and slowly I began to smile.
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. I miss you every day.
From my heart to yours, Diane