Crimped Hair, the Innocence of Childhood and Doing Better


I tried doing my hair with a bit of wave yesterday but I succeeded only in looking like a fashion confused woman with crimped hair walking through a portal directly from the 1980’s.

But when I looked in the mirror before bed, it hit me that the timing of my unfortunate crimp was perfect in that it reminded me of a seemingly simpler time. A time when I was still sheltered in the glorious, rainbow covered protective bubble of childhood.

A time when I was learning about the courageous battles for women’s rights and freedoms but I didn’t personally feel any of the oppression. As welcome in my dad’s workshop as I was my mom’s garden, I didn’t believe there was a thing I couldn’t do.  Mistakenly, I thought history had already decided I was worthy of the vote and sensible enough to have control over my person.

My awful hair took me back to a time when I thought humans could fix anything –  were capable of anything. As my terror of acid rain piqued, people came together to fix it. I clearly remember watching a newscast showing statues and buildings that were being corroded by acid rain.  I pictured acid burning holes through umbrellas as people ran to find shelter from the rain. Yet, people from every political stripe (at least as I saw it then) came together and solved the problem and it left me with a deep sense of hope and intense pride in the fact that we could do anything.

I miss those times and mourn that my children will never know such a carefree, rainbowed bubble.  Theirs is already covered in a haze of environmental pollution and boorish, racist sediment.

Now, it’s my job to continually remind them to be better.  To do better.

And I need to remind myself too.

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