A Hairy Tale With a Happy Ending

Friday, May 9, 2008

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

A Hairy Tale With a Happy Ending

By J’AMY PACHECO

In January, I wrote here about my daughter’s hair. The reason for its mention in this column was the fact that it had grown so long that it had gotten wet during a trip to a department store ladies room. This disturbing and disgusting event resulted in me washing the ends of her hair with hand soap in a public restroom, and in her beginning to consider cutting off her hair.

The idea of a haircut was no slam-dunk for my ‘tween. The hair that got soaked that fateful day had been growing for more than half her life, and was so long that when she sat on the floor, it reached the ground and folded over. It was glorious – shiny, wavy brown with red and gold highlights that attracted much attention and caused even strangers to comment.

You may have noticed I said, “was.”

Last week, she took the plunge — figuratively, this time — and bid her lovely tresses “adieu.”

It took far more than a snip of a hairdresser’s scissors to get rid of her ample mane. Instead, it took the hairdresser several minutes of sawing through my daughter’s thick hair to get to the point where the ponytail finally separated from the rest of her hair, just below her shoulders.

“I’m free!” my daughter cried out, shaking her newly-light head from side to side. She was positively jubilant.

I remember that feeling of freedom. I was in high school before I decided to have my extraordinarily long hair cut off, and I still recall how startling it was to suddenly lose all that hair weight. I did it so I could look like Farrah Fawcett.

My daughter, on the other hand, cut her hair so she could donate it to an organization called Locks of Love. This organization creates prosthetics out of human hair for children who lose their hair for medical reasons, and makes the prosthetics available for whatever the child’s family can afford to pay.

Many people donate hair to Locks of Love. You could argue that it’s no longer even a “special” thing to do. I disagree. As my daughter said:

“There are a lot of things in life that are more important than hair. But it probably doesn’t feel that way when you’re a young girl who doesn’t have any.”

Seeing my daughter cut off and mail away the hair I brushed every morning was painful. But that pain was alleviated by the knowledge that one day soon, another child will be walking around with that same shiny brown hair on her head.

My daughter brought a picture of singer Taylor Swift with her to the beauty shop, and requested a similar hairstyle. I can’t say the hairstylist came anywhere close to duplicating the singer’s hairstyle — in fact, she wouldn’t even take the time to curl it — but it’s a pretty cute haircut.

While it’s a lot shorter than it was, and layered, it’s still a substantial head of hair. In fact, it takes me almost half an hour to curl it with a curling iron.

To celebrate her new haircut, my daughter got new glasses and, of course, a new outfit. Her new look is fashionable and adorable, but I confess I’m having a little trouble dealing with how old she looks.

I am, however, delighted with the hair donation, if not the loss of the hair. My daughter, an only child, is a little bit spoiled. She’s a great kid, but is not always quick to share with others. To be honest, when her best friend went first on haircut day, I worried my daughter would back out, even though the whole thing was her idea.

For her to cut off more than a foot of hair to send to a complete stranger – whose name and story she will never know – is kind of a big deal around here. She does community service, and participates in the CHOC Walk for Children’s Hospital of Orange County, but has never – until now — given something of her own, let alone of herself.

Although I hardly recognize her, I’m proud of my not-so-little girl.

It makes me happy to think that while she’s shaking her short, curly brown hair in celebration of her follicle freedom, some other child, somewhere, may soon be shaking her own head in celebration of receipt of a prosthesis made of my daughter’s donation.

Besides, at the rate my daughter’s hair grows, she’ll probably have another foot to donate in a couple more years.

Next time, I’ll be ready. Maybe with a donation of my own.