Hair (Not The Musical)

Most things in my life revolve around my hair.

If my hair looks good, my life looks good. If I leave the house thinking my hair looks good, even if it doesn’t any more, I have a good day.

Conversely if my hair looks bad, my whole day is probably going to be one ugly failed attempt at structure and volume. If I leave the house thinking my hair looks bad, even if it doesn’t any more, I will have a bad day. It will consume me, and while I may appear to be listening, thinking, meditating on what you’ve said, the looped tape in my head keeps repeating, “Your hair looks bad. Think only about your hair. Because it really looks bad today.”

My strength, like Samson in the Bible, seems to be all follicle.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking all women feel this way about their hair. And you’re also thinking, I’ll bet her hair really DOES look bad.

I remember sitting in a hairdresser’s chair years ago, yammering on to him about the fact that I have thin, lifeless hair. At that point the hairdresser had 3 options. He could have lied to me (“Oh don’t be silly. You have the sort of hair any lioness would envy.”) He could have given me a diplomatic answer. (“While it’s true your hair is as fine as corn silk, we do have to work smart with a charming cut and products that make the most of your tresses.” Insert suggestion of high-priced styling gel here, sold at his salon, and everybody’s happy.) Or he could have told me the truth. (“Yes. You do have poopy hair. And frankly it is a stretch of my artistic ability to come up with a solution each time you show up for an appointment.”)

As a hair care professional, he should have at least given me a diplomatic answer. I pay enough for it. Maybe not enough for the lie, but certainly more than the truth should have cost me. Because what he said, after some considerable thought, was: “Yes, you have hair that fairly crawls across your scalp.”

I was appalled.

I left that salon immediately after tipping him and vowed never to return again. And except for the next five or six appointments, I never did.

Our pastor says when God looks down on those of us with hair, He sees our wonderfully hairy heads. When He looks down on those of us who are bald, He sees His reflection. Interesting concept, and one that made me look at hair, and the lack of it, in a new “light.”

I have a friend, a very special friend to me, who is blind. Before she was diagnosed with breast cancer, she had beautiful long straight Asian blue-black hair, which all fell out after the first few chemos. My friend shaved her head and wore it proudly. There is beauty, and then there is beauty. My friend is the latter. She has a wicked sense of humor that has been undaunted by all this silliness involving her sickness. She is a blast of fresh air, not just a breath, and I am always comforted in her presence, even though I should be the one comforting her.

How much more would things matter to us, if the things that didn’t matter, didn’t?

Tomorrow evening I will be saying “a few words” at the Release Party for Janie Mitchell, Reliable Cook. Public speaking is my weakness. I will be a nervous wreck, wondering if my hair looks good and convincing myself that it doesn’t. I think I will ask my blind friend Alex, who will be there with me tomorrow, how my hair looks. Because I know her, and her wit, and I believe her answer would be, "What hair?" And in that moment she will have reminded me that God sees straight through my hair, and into my heart. I pray that He will see His reflection there, and will use my weakness, like Samson, to display His awesome strength. Amen.