HAIR TODAY GOON TOMORROW ~ A PHOTO ESSAY (CAPTURE THIS QUICKIE ~ BEFORE AND AFTER)

Hello The Photo Essay Experience members and anyone else who might happen upon this article.

"Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become."

Henry David Thoreau

HAIR TODAY, GOON TOMORROW ~ A PHOTO ESSAY

Do you remember that old camp song - - Little Bunny Foo Foo? She kept scoopin' up field mice and boppin' ‘em on the head. The good fairy warned her not to do it again or she would turn her into a goon. She kept it up, the fairy turned her into a goon and the moral of the story was, "Hare Today, Goon Tomorrow!" Well I have determined that to know my hair is to know me and when you know me, you'll realize that I'm not only a goon tomorrow, but a goon forever!

It all started when I was in kindergarten. Well, maybe before that but... When I was in kindergarten I told my teacher that I was an Indian. My parents really had me confused! I was born on Thanksgiving and I came with a full head of thick, black, stand straight up hair. My mom kept telling me that I was "just like a little Indian coming to her "pilgrim feast." Then of course, my dad kept telling me that we had Cherokee blood in our ancestry. What was I supposed to think? My teacher was so surprised when she met my blonde mom and dark haired "non-Indian" Dad. Man, was I ever a goon!

Then, when I was getting ready for first grade, my mom decided she could do my hair as good as the ladies at the Pink Poodle Beauty Parlor. Well, sorta. She permed my hair and what with my summer sun-darkened face and mom's supper frizzed afro on my hair, my ancestry was in question once again. Hair today, Goon tomorrow!

The next year after Mom swore she wouldn't perm my hair, I decided to let her cut it. She brought home this thing that looked like a cylinder with a bunch of razor blades in it. I was holding it when she was combing my hair. Then I started sticking my thumb nail in where the razor blades were and just like a lobster trap -- oops! My thumb nail went in and got caught on the blade. My dad when to look for a screw driver to open it up and Mom just pulled hard. EEOOWCH! I spent most of that year waiting for my thumb nail to grow back in from the nail bed. What a GOON!

Okay, I learned not to let my mom perm or cut my hair. So I let my Aunt Ramona cut my hair before 6^th grade. It was the year I had so much fun being in plays. Oh yeah, that haircut? I ended up playing the Prince in Cinderella. Oh well, I guess it takes a goon to do something like that.

I'm not sure if it was just fear of what else people could do to my hair or what, but I decided in high school that I was never going to cut my hair again. And I didn't until I was 25. My hair was down below my waist when I got it chopped in a close-cropped, layered cut. My poor boss walked past my desk several times that day before he realized it was me! I worked at a college and he thought I was one of my student aides. What a goon!

Sixteen years ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It sounds like it would be devastating, and maybe this was just my way of dealing with it but... I was basically okay with it all until my hair started to fall out from the chemotherapy. Then I absolutely fell apart. Over my hair. Thankfully, when it was finally all out, I was okay again. Actually, I really liked my bald head. It was smooth, and absolutely round without any knobbiness. I loved how it felt to have the breeze blow over my hairless scalp. I wore wigs at work, but they just felt like scratchy hats. As soon as I was out of sight of the office I pulled them off and stuffed them in my bag. I went shopping, and playing, and living without a wig. It always caught people by surprise when we ran into each other away from work. I was really a goon!

When my hair started growing back in after all the therapies, it was nice to be able to find out where our son's double cowlick came from.

I haven't done anything quite so goony lately. I found a hair stylist who could actually do something with my hair so that it looks good without me having to do very much. Sarah made it look great! Then I lost her. She went to another salon, and then another. I tried other stylists at the old salon, but nobody could do what Sarah did. About a year ago, a woman at work walked by and I had to stop her and exclaim, "Marian! Your hair looks just great! What did you do?" She told me that her nephew's wife Sarah had cut it. "Sarah? Sarah who?" I asked. It was my Sarah! I'd found her again! So now things are back to normal. Well, at least my hair is.

While I'm not little Bunny Foo Foo and I haven't been bopping field mice over the head, but as you can tell  --  the good fairy must have put that curse on me, because all my life it's been, "Hair Today, Goon Tomorrow!"

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