Anne now has a funny haircut. In this respect, she has just
joined the rest of our family, though for a better reason than most
of us.
Anne now has a funny haircut. In this respect, she has just joined the rest of our family, though for a better reason than most of us.
Oliver, our sixteen-year-old, has bizarre hair as a fashion statement. I cannot describe it, because it is certain to change soon. Usually it is spiked and gelled, but sometimes it is waxed or dreadlocked. Sometimes it’s short, sometimes longish. Usually it’s dark, but sometimes it gets bleached, and wax and gel come in many unexpected colors.
Nick, the nineteen-year-old, is at the opposite extreme with a regulation quarter-inch buzz, because he’s joining Air Force ROTC, and figures he may as well get used to it.
My husband’s hair is moderately funny-looking because he insists that I cut it, and manual dexterity is not my forte.
My hair looks funny because I dyed it last summer, and it has grown out, giving me a two-toned appearance, like a fifties automobile or a saddle shoe.
Anne used to have fairly normal hair that she wore in two long thick braids. About a month ago, she decided it was taking too much time to brush and braid, and asked if I would cut off about six inches for her, so that it would be easier to manage but still long enough to plait.
I suggested that she might want to donate it to make a wig for a little girl who had no hair of her own, a cancer patient, perhaps. The suggestion struck a chord with her; she dedicated herself to the idea on the spot and never wavered.
I had a hazy notion that my friend Marta might be growing her hair for the same purpose, so I e-mailed her, and she directed me to www.locksoflove.com.
Locks of Love is a non-profit organization that provides hairpieces to financially disadvantaged children who are suffering from chronic hair loss. They use donated hair to create the highest quality hair prosthetics.
Most of the children helped by Locks of Love have lost their hair due to a medical condition called alopecia areata, which has no known cause or cure. The wigs help to restore the self-esteem and confidence of the afflicted children, enabling them to face the world and their peers.
The Web site includes detailed instructions on how to donate hair. To our surprise, donated hair has to be ten inches long. We hurriedly measured Anne’s hair, and found that if we cut off the requisite ten inches, she would not have enough to braid. She decided to grow it another month or two.
Sunday was the Day. She shampooed, brushed, and braided. I measured up from each braid tip, and installed pink hair ties at the cut-line, and blue hair ties an inch above the pink.
“Go look,” I warned her.”I’ll be cutting just above the pink.”
She looked, and gave me the go-ahead. I took my good sewing scissors and lopped off her left-hand braid, feeling much as if I were lopping off a finger. She looked so odd and lop-sided that my heart quailed, but I forced myself to shear off the other braid. And there she stood, with two stubby, two-inch pigtails.
When she took out the hair ties, her hair fluffed up into a short, curly, thick mass. Her brothers, to torment her, told her she looked cute. Anne hates looking cute. I hastened to reassure her that she looked ugly, but the damage was done. She braided her little stubs up again, and put on a hat.
She refuses to let me trim, or to go to a professional for a trim, because it would take even longer for her to grow back her beloved braids.
We mailed her braids to Locks of Love, per the Web site instructions.
Everywhere we go, people say, “You cut your hair!” Anne tells them about Locks of Love. She’s happy that her hair will be used to make some other little girl happy, and she’s happy to be a walking, talking advertisement for Locks of Love. But she’s also going to be happy in a few months, when her hair grows out enough to make some decent braids.
