Bumps on the Head

Written for the third “Night of the Radish” – Theme:  Bumps

“Maaaahhhhmmmmm!  I have a huge bump on my head!”

“What?  Did you fall out of bed or something?”

“No.  It’s my hair.  It’s bumpy again.  I hate it!”

Her hair is a major speed bump every morning.  I don’t know what to do about it.  I have fine, stick-straight hair that I didn’t really learn how to manage until my thirties.  I can’t possibly help my daughter with her thick mop of curls.   Like her long legs and speed-reading capabilities, her curls are completely foreign to me.

When she was little, her hair was the perfect accessory to her ever-changing personality.  At three, blonde wispy curls framed her cherub face.  At five, long blonde curls gathered into a topknot to crown my princess.  At seven, a wavy bob suited her surfer dude persona that emerged when she abandoned the drama of girls to try hanging out with boys.

But by about age nine, the dream hair turned into a nightmare.

When she realized she could (and I realized she should) start taking care of her own hair, it got more knotted and shaggy.  We’d fight through tears to brush it, but it would just frizz.  When we followed a curly-haired woman’s advice and just “finger-combed” it, dreadlock-like masses quickly appeared.

In a moment of desperation, I did what my mother had done to me.  I convinced her to cut it all off.   We hesitated because she was already being mistaken for a boy.  Since she refused to wear anything pink and usually opted for baggy t’s, she didn’t really look that different from the fuzzy-headed boys of her generation.  I spared her the close-cropped pixie cut of my youth and went for today’s trendy wedge – clearly a girl’s cut.

When the stylist was done, it looked adorable.  It was just the fresh and funky look she had hoped for.  She made a crooked smile and cocked her hip each time she caught a glimpse of her reflection.

But once she washed it, the curls took over.  They took revenge for our silly attempt to try and tame them.

Everyday, the angry curls shrink up her hair into clenched little fists full of rage.  We try to tamp them down with water and product, but they always fight back.  Everyday, we dampen and spritz and brush and iron until she can leave the house without shame.    But she goes to bed each night knowing that she will only wake to find massive bumps from yet another fierce battle.

So, the next time you are enviously admiring a woman with a thick mane of wavy hair, know that she has probably had more than her fair share of bumps along the way.