Show of Hands on a Star-Spangled Fourth of July

Friday, July 6, 2007

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Show of Hands on a Star-Spangled Fourth of July

By J’AMY PACHECO

Since the arrival of humankind on the planet, females of the species have wanted one thing more than any other: colorful paint on their finger and toenails.

This is particularly obvious during spring and summer, when toes come out of hiding inside warm socks and instead peek out of sandals, sporting white stripes across the top, or bright colors highlighted with little stickers or tiny jewels.

I can’t imagine how this trend started. I have trouble picturing a cave-wife watching her cave-hubby draw stick figures on their stone walls and thinking, “Ug. Me try that on fingernails.” It boggles the mind to think that somebody once thought of slapping paint on human nails, creating a bazillion dollar industry.

I’m not a polished-nails sort of girl, but even I have occasionally given in to the call of the nail polish bottle. When I was in high school, for example, it was fashionable to paint one’s nails with pearly white polish – and I did. As an adult, I went through a phase where I painted my toenails brick red, and painted my fingernails a sparkly sort of pink.

I’ve never quite been able to figure out what the attraction is. Frankly, I find nail polish to be a pain. First of all, you have to walk around being careful not to smudge your polish until it dries – which seems to take forever. Once it’s dry, you have to use care to avoid chipping the polish.

If you manage to keep your polish from chipping long enough, when you finally do take it off, your newly-bare nails kind of ache for a day or so. What, I ask, is the attraction?

My little girl got the urge to have her nails painted shortly after she exited the womb. Her father, wanting to avoid her going from diapers into her teenage phase and skipping childhood, forbade it.

In pre-school, she looked longingly at friends with sparkly nails. Through her early elementary years, she voiced the wish that she, too, could have painted nails.

Occasionally, she would ask her father for permission to paint her nails, and each time, he said “No.” Although I, too, wished to paint her tiny toenails, I went along with my husband’s decree. Instead, I allowed her to live vicariously through me by letting her paint MY toenails now and then.

At our daughter’s fifth birthday party, I began to understand his refusal to allow her to paint her nails. One of her pals showed up with painted nails and dressed to the nines. Although the girl was only seven, she looked like a 15-year-old. It scared me, and it became clear to me what my husband was hoping to avoid.

A few nights ago, my daughter – now 11 – told me she was thinking of asking her dad for permission to paint her nails in celebration of our nation’s birthday. She had seen some red, white and blue toenails pictured in a family magazine, and longed to sport some star-spangled toenails herself.

I tried to talk her out of making the effort, assuming they’d just end up annoyed with one another. But off she went to plead her case. Although I couldn’t hear her words, the rise and fall of her voice made it sound like she was making a pretty good presentation – or at least a very animated argument.

A while later, my daughter returned and leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed and a triumphant look on her face. To my utter amazement, she told me a deal had been struck: she could get her nails painted for special occasions, but had to get each special occasion approved beforehand. There would be no nail painting in celebration of the first Wednesday of March, for example.

When the big day came to get her nails done, my little orator was nervous. She wanted stars and stripes on her nails, but was afraid of going overboard and sending dear old Dad over the edge. She set out for the nail salon with Grandma and the magazine page, but no idea what she would request. I anxiously awaited her return.

When she came back, she waved the sparkly girly nails I’d always dreamed of. A translucent pink, they looked almost natural. Each hand bore one tiny daisy with a tiny rhinestone in the center. Her toes were painted to match.

While I expected her to celebrate the Fourth with star-spangled nails, she celebrated it with toned-down sparkles completely appropriate for a little girl.

That, I think, makes it clear that she has earned the right to exercise a little independence – at least where her nails are concerned.