A Hair Story and Other Traumas...

It has turned into a rainy, stormy day today and my original idea of walking around posting pics of what I saw for the day had to be nixed. The storm clouds have parted for a bit and the sun is trying to come out but more storms and rain are in the forcast and if I am being truthful, I am feeling a bit on the lazy side today.

I have enjoyed reading all of the blogs so many of you have been posting and have found myself lurking on people's pages that I hadn't known about before until finding them on other people's blogs. So thank you to those that have joined in the 30 day blog challenge and a special thanks for all the smiles and giggles.

Reading some of those blogs this morning got me to thinking how things are viewed from different perspectives, and how those perspectives change as we get older. When we are younger those perspectives we form seem to be so much more influenced by what we experience than as we age.

Chatting with my mom the other day we somehow got on the subject of my childhood and how I and each of my brothers all turned out so vastly different. I am not sure why that is other than genetics of course, and how two people can experience the same thing and come away from it with a different view of what originally happened.

When my twin brother was back last year, I listened to him tell a tale of something that happened when we were youngsters and it floored me to hear him have details so different from what I remember. Chatting with my mom later I asked her if she remembered things happening that way. She said no and that what she remembered was closer to my observation.

It had me wondering if while we are kids our imaginations somehow weave their way into our life experiences and color the whole picture so we are left with something that isn't black, white, or grey. That our minds somehow trick us into thinking something happened but never did.

Or I could be totally wrong and just have a twin bro that is a bit of a wind bag and each time he tells a story it gets bigger and bigger. Yeah, I can type stuff like that since he isn't privy to my blog (grin). I can't really blame him if that is the case, it's in his genetics, something he most assuredly got from dad's side of the family.

Somehow my Mom and my conversation turned to hair, coloring, styles, etc. and I mentioned my kindergarten class pic with my awful looking hair. The first words out of her mouth were, "oh, but it was so cute"....."Cute!" I cried, "it was traumatic". My mom only giggled, something moms do when they know they are responsible for that fiasco.

I don't know what in the world possessed my mom to tease and back comb and tease some more, my hair into a big bouffant. It had bangs, and a bow, and she curled the ends out in some sort of a flip thingy. I just remember the pulling,tugging, combing, and the cloud of hair spray fumes before I was declared ready to go to school on picture day.

I walked with my neck held stiffly. My head felt funny. I was afraid that any sudden movements might cause my hair to collapse, my neck to snap, or some other sort of major catastrophe. Upon arriving at school, my real insecurities kicked in. I tried to quietly remain in a corner out of view, hoping and praying that nobody would notice. That nobody would notice the first thing I noticed when I got to school that morning.

My hair was styled the same way as the teachers. I had...."old people's hair". Now I am sure my teacher wasn't really that old, but in the eyes of 5 year old, all adults are old. I had old people's hair and I was afraid the rest of the class could see it too.

When it came time for the class picture we were arranged on the aluminum bleacher type steps and I was instructed by the teacher to stand in the back row. I was sure it was because of my big hair. My big tall hair, that they wouldn't be able to see past. It never dawned on me as a child we could have been arranged alphabetically. I was sure it was because of my big tall old people's hair.

I read Sharon's blog this morning about going to her daughter and grand daughter's dance programs. Most kids love to dance. Most kids are not self conscious and dance like nobody is looking. I was not one of those kids.

It was another of those ideas of my mom that all girls should take dance lessons. It may have been her pathetic attempt to have a girl who liked girly things. Surrounded by boys, I am sure she thought it was her only chance to have a girl who she could bond with over clothes, and make-up, shoes, and all things girl-like.

I sucked at dance class. I have blogged before of the horror of being dressed as a giant yellow lollipop, tap dancing across the stage to the songs of Shirley Temple. I was not coordinated, I was not outgoing and could dance like nobody was looking. I just wasn't cut out for tap dancing. I just don't think I was cut out for anything that required coordination.

One of the things we had to do in dance class was also some acrobatic moves. Each student was to somersault all the way across the floor matt to the other side of the room. Not so hard you would think. I don't know why it was so difficult for me, but it was a catastrophe.

I would somersault once, somersault twice and somehow end off on the side of the matt, on the wooden floor. I couldn't somersault a straight line. It continued all the way across the room. Somersault, somersault, fall off the matt. Get up and walk back over to it, or crawl my way back and somersault again. I don't know how long it took, but it seemed like forever. Even worse when the whole class knows your somersault shame. I haven't somersaulted again to this day.

Silly stupid stuff like that, stays with you when you are a kid. It continues with you as you grow older. Things like learning your teacher isn't really leaving the room to make important phone calls or do important teacher things, but to go to the office to smoke. Things like catching bugs for your required insect bug collection, only to drop it while getting off the bus while on your way to school. Things like being called to the front of the class to solve a problem the teacher had been discussing while you had been doodling on your desk trying to look busy. Things like throwing a baby shower for a pregnant classmate because nobody else was going to. Things like finding out one of your best friends was gay and died of aids before you could see them again at a class reunion. All kinds of things stick with you when are a kid. They make the biggest impressions on you.

I feel sorry for the kids of today. They are bombarded with so much, that those things don't have a chance to make an impression on them. Those numerous things that just seem to make them immune or oblivious to the important things of the world around them. They develop a shell of indifference, a barrier to the constant onslaught from the world.

I think we should make more of an effort to realize the impact things have when someone is so young. I think we should just stop making kids into adults before their time. I think we shouldn't expect kids to make more mature decisions than we make ourselves. I think bouffant hairstyles and somersaults should not be attempted by anyone without some sort of warning or caution. No matter how good of an idea it sounded to mom or dad at the time...