My mom had long lustrous tresses, silken spun, almost. My hair, however, was my mom’s worst nightmare. Curls that went everywhere and would just not stay. Every day would be a race against time. She’d fumble to get them to look half decent, all the while praying we did not miss my school bus. At times, her prayers went unanswered. Then, on some days I’d come home with a missing ribbon, on others, with almost non existent pony tails. It did not help that I was a tom boy and would beat up anyone who so much so dared to pull my ‘pig tails’. Fed up with the daily rigmarole, mum eventually got me to look like a boy. I was only too glad. Her anxiety attacks now got diverted to other ‘hair raising’ issues. She sighed every time I randomly ran a brush through my hair and ran down to play. What was I supposed to do? The boys were waiting to play marbles, you see. In retrospect, I think, my mom did try very hard for me to be the petite girl with two braided plaits and satin ribbons. There was just one minor problem, I just wasn’t in the mood to be a ‘girl’.
As I grew, the attitude stuck. Fortunately for my mom, there was one brave soul who volunteered to get married to me. Let’s put it this way, I let him volunteer. To make a long story short, we had a princess of our own. Now the mister and me, both have curls from now to kingdom come. So, the fruit don’t fall far from the tree, right? Wrong! Remember that formula, two minuses make a plus? No, no, we didn’t end up divorced. It is too expensive an affair. It was the princess. She had poker straight hair!
As she grew older and I wiser, I began unearthing the charms of fancy hair clips. Here was a living doll who I could play dress up with. Yes, we had to deal with the occasional poop now and then. Err, well, let’s just get back to happy thoughts. However, as you already know, my expertise with hair was legendary. I thought the best way to go would be ‘short’, the way I’d always been. Alas, my joy was short lived. For the grandmother arrived on the scene. Everything that I was not, the princess was. She was actually kinda perfect and I really could not argue with that. And so, Granny took it upon herself to oil, wash and comb her hair. Thankfully, she stayed next door. To her, it was reliving a childhood that she had long left behind. And the princess wasn’t complaining. As for me, I was learning how to be the mother of a petite girl with two plaits.
Making braid ends meet across three generations, that’s what love is all about. Dove simply plays the pied piper.