Mr. Pierre’s Beauty Salon was the best toy. The centerpiece was the head of a woman with golden hair sprouting from a scalp. It came with styling tools, but all I ever did was chop it. In my memory there was an endless supply. While I loved my baby doll that peed and drank milk, nothing compared with sneaking the kitchen scissors and cut, cut, cutting her locks.
It was the only time hair-styling was fun. My mom never left my hair alone. She made a hobby out of improving it. She started with huge velvet bows. They perched like missiles between my side part and ears, obstructing my peripheral vision.
In second grade my mom went too far and gave me a Toni Home Perm. After work one evening, she sat me on a green velvet stool in the living room, told me to sit still, and went to town. With a scalp still burning from the perm solution, she pulled my hair like taffy to fix it on pink plastic rollers. The last step, fastening the roller with rubber anchors, delivered the biggest shock. Imagine tying your pony tail to a door and standing still while someone shuts it.
I couldn’t help wiggling and whining with each stretch of a rubber band. “Aow!”, “AAoow!” “It hurts!”, followed by fake crying. The Ta Da was a big, unnatural bonnet of tight brown curls not suited to a pale, freckle-faced, skinny little kid. My family name was Annie because we had two Maureen Annes. With the Toni Home Perm, my nickname became Little Orphan Annie. Hilarious.
On my first day of school with my new hairdo, I spilled out of the school bus onto the sidewalk and lurched toward the side entrance of the Convent of the Sacred Heart for girls. I wobbled as I walked with a Mark Cross briefcase and a white rabbit’s fur coat. That was a long day. I thank God for the nuns who ran defense, offering select kind words and stern, eyeball warnings to classmates who might be inclined to comment.
My daughter Emma endured a few bows in preschool. I cut her hair until she was five just like mine was at that age, China doll style with straight bangs just above her brows and the rest cropped just below her tiny ear lobes. Emma was born with lots of good hair. It is thick and shiny with a bit of a wave. Lucky for her. Who knows what I might have done to that head if it needed a correction.