Sunday Scribblings " Mother the Hairdresser"

My hair was always done perfectly!
My dad carried this picture of me in his wallet all his life!

I was eighteen months old when I had my first perm!
The first shop mom owned in Vancouver, on Commercial Drive

This prompt could have ignited so many memories. Never a hairdresser, I have cut, permed and dyed many heads of hair over the years. My ex for twenty five years, my daughter for seventeen, many friends, their kids and their hubbies! I even cut my dolls hair when I was little. My mother never wanted me to be a hairdresser. So I wasn’t. I never realized how my life long obsession with perfect hair was handed down!

I love nice hair and if my hair isn’t working for me, I get pretty frustrated. I am at that point in my life where I need a bit of a change, to go with “THE CHANGE!” I still prefer my hair longer. If mom were alive she would vehemently disapprove, “No one should have long hair after forty” she would say! Reading my Sunday scribbling should give you some insight into my mother the hairdresser!



Mother the Hairdresser

A nip of a thing, first perm, just under two
I sat motionless and quiet as she formed a hair-do
A hairdresser mother, with angst to revamp
My pencil straight hair with her personal stamp
Forty odd years, she coifed hair for a living
A hair out of place would be unforgiving
Only eight, she threatened to chop my mane
If I entered her shop, messy tresses again
So I learned in a snap, how to set hair
Before long, I too, had the artistic flair
Long, short, I had it permed most of my life
When it’s not precise, it overwhelms me with strife
A salon at our home, in a large basement room
Wafting up stairs, stench of solution would loom
I cleaned the shop nightly, from nine years old on
Some days I’d observe from a chair in the salon
I was to keep coffee brewing, serve and refill
Some customers brought treats, it was always a thrill
Mary White, a Gemini, brought baking each week
I adored that lady and her generous streak
A woman’s son committed suicide one summer day
In retrospect I can see he was probably gay
His mom shared things, which shocked them both
Secrets retained, the expected beauticians oath
Much heartbreak and misery passed to moms ears
Physically and mentally eroded over years
Her passion for hair waned, as her hips grew sore
Redundant styles, she shoved clones out her door
Looking for modern, relieving her load
I found my own stylist, just down the road
Family and friends always expected hair favors
Constant demands, forced her changed behaviors
Mom escaped to her trailer, to fill her need
To play golf, garden, relax, and read
A hairdresser’s life, a laboriously feat
As a daughter, expectations were difficult to meet
Hair has been my obsession over the years
It’s been all about ego and how one appears
Some day’s I’ll fuss, but not like before
Now I throw it in a pony when I run to the store!