short-hair

Funny, not Funny at all.
Sorry, NOT Sorry. If I hadn’t been given the memory it wouldn’t have appeared to be written here.

Honestly, It Could be Worse
By Elisha Gordon

I found the picture below and started to just snap it in and post a meme and move on. Somehow, I just couldn’t. That little girls face grabbed me. Yes, it’s a funny, her face and the expression on it probably has nothing at all to do with her hair. It’s just meant to make fun about how we look trying to get that glamorous Hollywood short hair look and end up looking like the stylist used a chilibowl and a round brush with an underneath swirl! It’s cute, it’s light it’s funny. For whatever reason, I can never say exactly why, what or where, but this picture triggered something inside me. To explain it to you requires a little back story revelation. Ooh, a little glimpse into my past, I don’t do that as a rule because there are no memories there before age 14 and I’m always afraid if I share people will see me differently. Guess what? I don’t care anymore. I write it because I need to. So this memory starts when I was about 9 years old. Buckle up, handle it or get off, cuz here we go…When I was about this age, while getting ready for school, my mother had gotten mad, yet again. It was a vicious daily occurrence. Instead of the usual smack on the head with the hairbrush, general yanking and pulling, she decided on her best, and most favorite way, of causing the most pain, dragging a rat-tail comb through it and yelling because that only made it harder to get the tangles out. Finally, decided she would make good on her favorite threat to “just cut off all my hair” because it was always “a rat’s nest” of tangles. My hair is very thick, but also very fine so it matted up overnight and she never had the patience to brush it out carefully. As a result of this treatment I am not the least bit tender headed. Looking back, I guess I have that to thank her for. For vacation that year, we went to Oregon with my Grandparents to visit my Great-Grandparents. She had her hairdresser cousin cut off all my long hair.I  knew I would suffer miserably for going back with this hair and she didn’t give a damn. She never did when it came to me. I thought then, though I know better now, that I could never be so humiliated as we sat down to breakfast with our menus in hand the next morning surrounded by the family, I rarely saw, and my adorable little sister playing crayons in her ponytails as the waitress took orders. When she got to me she asked “What will the little boy be having for breakfast?” I cried. Later, I cried inside, because she only ever allowed so much crying outside before she promised the beating in retaliation while she totally blamed me loudly and explained to everyone how it was all my fault because I had such tangled hair. So, in effect, I made her cut off the uncooperative mess I insisted upon growing on my head and forcing her to brush because I wouldn’t do it myself. I would have happily done it myself, had someone with any patience that didn’t include beating me offered to help me, or show me without expecting me to just drag a hairbrush through it which hurt like hell! Maybe, hold higher up, pull through down low, use your fingers to separate first, here’s some water with a little fabric softener spray, use a little on the really tough ones first…I don’t know some other offering than I’m gonna beat you, yank a brush as hard as you can, hit me on the head and threaten to shave it till I’m bald headed. I cried inside looking for rescue, but I remember my great-grandparents open mouthed looks, I remember my grandfather’s sad eyes. My father hadn’t gotten to come on this trip or cutting my hair off would never have been an option. You see, she tortured us mercilessly, but only outside of his presence and then threatened worse if we told him. She used to count up spankings, then make sure to throw it in our face how many we had coming when he left, but only out of his earshot. Funny, no one made a move to stop her there in the restaurant as she held my arm so tight I knew there’d be a bruise later. Somehow, they must have known it would make it worse. I always wondered, If they did, why didn’t anybody confront the crazy lady and save us?She’s going to deny this ever happened, tell you I’m the horrible child who made it all up. Tell you I wanted that haircut. In her version I imagine I begged to cut off my long locks so I could run around looking like someone’s lost little boy every day. BULLSHIT. Though she’d like you to believe different, she was not mother of the year in anyone’s mind but her own. Believe or not. Get it or don’t, If you were there you know the truth. So, yes, the picture is meant as a funny and even I am laughing my ass off as I type looking at that little girls face, I’m just sharing with you one of my childhood memories. I can’t explain the why or how I can remember it so clearly today when usually it’s black spots. I don’t want your pity, nor am I seeking attention. It’s just a picture and for a minute this picture brought back into focus a lost memory. The memory will probably be gone tomorrow. I won’t remember writing this.  Still, I would ask you all for the sake of your own children, please take a second to think, your actions, especially unnecessarily cruel ones have longer lasting consequences than you think. You need to know that and when the lock on the black box cannot contain all the shit that’s been packed away in it for so many years, you and only you are the target for the hatred, the rage and the vicious retaliation that leaps forth. You are the only person you have to blame. So, I hope your lovely leather belt with your name engraved on it, your vacuum cleaner cords, your coat hangers, your flyswatters, along with all those many colored empty wine boxes, pills and bottles are as great a comfort in your old age as they were when you tortured us with them in secret when no on was around to save us from you. They will probably be the only company you have, because along with your implements of torture all you’re left with are children and grand children who tolerate you solely because they cannot live without the presence of your husband in their lives.

BTW, Upon further study, It’s true! I look awful with short hair!!

 

Advertisements