About hair

When I was a little girl, I never cared for stuffed animals, and was bored by Barbie doll wardrobes. But I did somehow develop a passionate, all consuming obsession with hair.

My obsession can probably be traced to one of my older sisters, who developed a bizarre and fascinating process to straighten her kinky Jewish hair. The ritual alone enthralled me. She started by brushing her long head of freshly shampooed hair and squeezing it into a large ponytail on the top of her head. Then she carefully divided the ponytail into two large wedges and wrapped the hair around frozen orange juice containers used as large curlers. Then (this was in the days before blow-dryers), she would lay under a hair dryer for four hours until it dried.

When she took the ponytail out, the top of her scalp was always a bit bumpy, but oh - how the rest of her beautiful chestnut hair gleamed! It was a stunning transformation and a ritual that I later copied step by step.

So it's no surprise that before I could play with my own, I reached for the most reasonable substitute for my hair-dressing fantasies, dolls. Preferably ones with large heads of hair. When I was 7 and needed to get my tonsils removed, I begged my mother to get me a Chrissy doll, ll whose hair grew when you pushed her belly button, and could then be wound back up by turning a knob on her back.

And then there was the day that my entire family accidentally left me home alone, unaware that I was upstairs - dutifully washing my doll's hair in the sink.

As an adult, I went through stages (like my hippy days in college) where I left my thick hair curly, and enjoyed the freedom of going au naturel. But, for better or for worse - those early straight hair experiences marked me for life.

Although the invention of the blow dryer turned me on to a less cumbersome way to tame my curls, it was a perilous Cinderella lifestyle. I remember going to my high school prom with perfect Farrah Fawcett waves, but after a night of dancing and a trip to the beach, I returned home with my hair more suited for the role of wicked stepsister.

Still I resisted chemically straightening my hair abecause I remembered how awful that dry, ironed look came across on the girls in high school who had the misfortune of being born with nothing-you-can-do-about-it kinky afros, but desperately wanted straight hair.

But just before my wedding 10 years ago, a friend turned me on toa new breed of professional relaxers, and there I was, a blushing June bride on a humid day at my outdoor wedding, with gloriously straight, gleaming hair. I was hooked for life.

Which brings me to my two beautiful daughters, who were blessed with wavy, shiny, beautiful hair - one dark brown like mine, the other a golden chestnut brown. Their shiny tresses may turn into kinky messes when they hit puberty, but at least for now, they have the kind of soft, pliable hair I yearned for in childhood and loved to caress and play with as a child.

You know where this is leading. That's right - in his infinite wisdom, God gave me daughters who hate, and often outright refuse, to let me do anything with their hair.

Jessica will barely let me put a brush through it, and hasn't allowed a barrette or other hair ornament to stay on her scalp since she was about 3. Even then, she was never the type to keep any hair clips in for more than 5 minutes, while I scrambled for a camera to capture the fleeting moment.

Lily's a little more open to hair adornments, but it has to be on her terms. One ponytail, exactly equidistant from the top of her scalp to the nape of her neck, and tight enough to give her an early face lift. Occasionally she'll let me put in tiny braids in the front (and oh, how I thrill at this simple pleasure), but she will never sit lazily in my lap while I try this hairdo or that, experiment with different parts...in short, neither of my girls will let me PLAY with her hair!!!

I keep hoping that maybe next year it will be different, and that one day they'll turn into those child models with ribbons woven through their hair, or exquisitely adorable barrettes holding stray hairs in place while their perfect banana curls swing in the breeze.

Alas, my fantasy may never be realized, but at least I do have one or two photos - the one above is a special favorite - that show I tried to live the dream.