August 11, 2015 – Prompt 1 – A Wild Hair … Hare
A wild hair
On my head sits hair that used to be brown
Steaks of gray mark the tests of time
It’s really no bother, for I earned each and everyone
But my badge of honor that I wear with pride is the wild hair in white that grows and multiplies!
I part my hair so all can see–my wild hair.. The best part of me!!
© Suzanne Carey 2015
2. Robert Mihaly
Never was the kind
All around me
They dropped out
I wouldn’t buy the plan
Artist with an
Some flew by
By broken dreams
Now what the fuck to do
Some things just won’t fly
Some things just aren’t fair
Watching life circling the drain
Time to fight or flee
If I fail
At least I tried
Watch my wild hair
As I walk away
© Robert Mihaly 2015
3. Wild Thing – https://wildthing404.wordpress.com/2015/08/14/wild-hair/
Me & Dad
My hair! My dad insisted that little girls had long hair. To that end, my hair was to never be cut. My mother, a beautician, had other thoughts about little girls’ hair, especially little girls who were ‘wild things’. Every morning I would have to stand still while she would battle to put my golden tresses into braids. Apparently my hair went wild in my sleep.
What torture! What pain! As she untangled the snarls she would mutter under her breath about my hair, my wild ways and how she should just cut it all off. The frustration would be taken out on my scalp. I was not to yell or cry during this punishing morning hygienic ritual. To do so would only make it worse. Once the snarls were out, she’d make those braids as tight as she could hoping to restrain my hair if not me.
Poor mom, it wasn’t to be. I well remember one morning, after struggling with my hair, she came out to hang clothes on the line about 20 minutes later. I came running up to her excited to show her some bit of nature I had found (I don’t remember what as it became secondary in importance) and I’ll never forget the look on her face as she turned to look at me.
My mother looked as if she were about to cry. For all her hard work was nearly undone in the space of a few minutes! The tightly pulled braids were already coming loose. Hair was sticking out all over, some to my forehead, some to my neck, and I, I was pulling at one wild hair that had stuck to my cheek.
© Wild Thing 2015
4. A Wild Hair – Hare
I have had a love/hate relationship with my hair all my life. From birth until puberty, it was a battle of wills for my mother and endurance for me. Hours spent in getting pin curls, home perms, gels, hair tape and other unknown feats of magic to whip my board straight, raven black, uncooperative hair to look like the dancing curls on Shirley Temple’s head.
Then…puberty arrived and things changed not only in my body, but my hair as well. The color stayed the same, but suddenly it had a mind of its own. What had once been something that refused all manner of torture to coax a tiny bit of curl from its strands was now a wild untamable mess. Curls where I didn’t want them, frizz the minute I walked outside the door, bangs that would not stay straight or in their place … why me … why now when hair mattered and the hair that mattered was long, straight, shiny and looked like Cher. Mine looked like Janis Joplin on her worst day even when I used a ton of hair gel, wrapping it around my head with long bobby pins to hold it in place and a coke can sized bright pink roller on top of my head each night. For about a minute when the wrappings were undone and the beast brushed, it was straight. Most days it didn’t last through breakfast and if it did getting to the car unleashed the beast and I went through the day mortified because it looked like I slept with my finger in the light socket.
This continued into my college years … long, short, medium … it didn’t matter, my hair did just what it wanted. Then to top everything off, during my late teens my heritage from the paternal side of the family kicked in and I began going gray. I will not tell you my initial remedy because of course it was futile. I fought coloring it for years into adulthood … then started experimenting. That is a whole novel by itself and will not be discussed in this telling.
With the gray came what my Mother called Wild Hairs … an extremely stiff, straight white hair sticking up from my scalp in any number of places that refused to be tamed. Or, it might be a tight corkscrew doing the same thing. Again …the method of battling these new beasts will not be discussed.
Time rocks on and hormones again come into play. Now the beast is in various stages of graying … silver here, white there, some black still lurking at the nape of my neck … but horror of horrors, it is now has the look and consistency of a wire pot scrubbing pad on most days. Deep sigh and a final ‘to hell with it’ attitude, I just let the damned stuff do what it wants when I run it through the shower and blow dryer every morning.
The thing my Mother neglected to tell me about ‘Wild Hairs’ is they begin appearing in various other areas as well … chin, cheek, lip, eyebrows … gad it sucks to get old!
Seems my entire life has been spent chasing ‘wild hairs and hares’. Heads up you young whipper snappers … there are definite surprises waiting for you!
Copyright © 2015 Annie – Original Non-fiction
Always…I wish you peace, joy and happiness, but most of all I wish you Love.
As Ever, Annie