Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Waving a hair brush like a lunatic in the bathroom of a local school gymnasium this past Saturday, I said to my daughter, "I'm either going to use this to brush your hair or beat you...your choice!"  It wasn't my finest moment.

She’s 11 and in fifth grade. It's the beginning of what I call “the dark ages,” at least from personal experience. You’re trapped somewhere between child and adult and are really just trying to survive. As a mother and a fellow female (is that an oxymoron?), I feel remiss if I don’t take every opportunity to try to steer her down the wider path, the path more traveled, to help her learn from my and others’ mistakes and to shield her from some of the harder lessons. It’s a shortcoming on my part, as I know deep down, I should let her learn on her own. Hell, I’m still learning.

The morning was one of frustration and elevated tempers and all over a recreation basketball league’s photo day. Did it matter that her hair wasn’t “cute?” So what? So she doesn’t know how to fix her hair yet? Guess what? I was in my 30s before I finally started figuring things out and most some days it's still a challenge. Thirty. Why on earth would I expect her to be a prodigy at 11 when I barely have it together myself?

In that bathroom, before the pictures were taken, when it was just the two of us, I stepped back. I took a breath. I silently prayed, “a little help here?” And then I spoke from the heart. I said, “looks shouldn’t matter, but they do.” Then I softened that with, “you’re a beautiful person inside and out and anyone who truly cares for you will see that beauty.” I just wanted her to put a little effort into it. She tried, let’s say “unsuccessfully,” three times at putting her hair in a ponytail. It’s something she’s done for years now, but it’s not what I would consider a fashionable one.

Here's what I had going on at her age:

Not great and not exactly what I would call "pulled together and stylin'."

But would a little braid on the side kill you? This is the best we came up with. 

She gets the last laugh. I know this look and it says, "I wish
my vocabulary were bigger so I could call you more names."

The fly-aways and frizzes were temporarily tamed with some water from the sink. I sold part of my soul in the process of convincing her to consider a side part instead of straight down the middle. And I used the rest of my soul currency when I insisted that she allow me to at least put the band in (and twist it the proper number of times). 

As we wrapped up, got back to a good place and she prepared for this blasted photo op and then a basketball game, another teammate walked in, holding a hair brush and in tears. “Are you OK?” I asked. “Yeah,” came her reply. “My Mom just wants me to redo my hair.”

And then this happened:

Ten little women, all the same age, all in this decided “dark age” and all just trying to figure it out. And they will. If we give them the space to do so.

Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.          -- Proverbs 22:6