There are consequences for our actions...
and few childhood pastimes drive that lesson home
like playing hairdresser.
Who else remembers the Crissy dolls from the early '70s, with hair that "grows and grows"?
 |
Crissy Doll
Denise Van Patten |
Well, I cut it off. Her pony tail. Cut it. Right. Off.
And guess what? It did not grow back. Darn you, Ideal Toy Corporation! This was not my ideal toy by a long stretch.
Fast forward 30 years when my daughter, Miranda, was born with lots of dark, straight hair, just like her mommy. But then something miraculous (and possibly hormonal) happened-- her hair grew out in soft, loose curls. The kind her mommy always wanted, but was never lucky enough to have. Her doctor said it wouldn't last, but I vowed then and there that I would not be responsible for cutting it off.
(Dylan, if you're reading this, please don't feel bad... I forgave you long ago, and am since grateful for the little ditty that came of it!)
MY SISTER’S FIRST
HAIRCUT
Today I cut my
sister’s hair
(she told me to, you
see)
but then my mother
had a fit—
not at her, but me!
She said I should
know better
since my sister’s
only three.
So I just sighed and
said, “Okay…
this time the cut is
free.”
© 2008 Michelle
Heidenrich Barnes. All rights
reserved.
With thanks to Linda Baie, whose "15 word or less" poem on Laura Purdie Salas' blog yesterday inspired today's post.
Oh, do you want to be inspired too? Well then head over to The Poem Farm, where Amy has today's Poetry Friday roundup!
I love sister poems. :) Who doesn't have a hair story?? Wonderful poem -- thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteSister stories and hair stories... we've all got them! Great to see you pop up in my comments, Irene. :)
DeleteHah! Fun poem, but . . .
ReplyDeletethis post reminded me of my own haircutting trauma. My older brother cut the hair off my new Betsy McCall doll, whom I loved so much. I can't believe you cut Crissy's hair! *weeps*
Geez Jama, I wouldn't have done it had I known there wasn't an endless supply!
Deletehaha! I remember those dolls! I found it very weird that you could push a button and the hair would grow. I knew that wasn't really how it happened...I wonder how many of us have do-it-yourself hairdresser stories. I remember cutting my cousin, Rhonda's long, golden hair - she asked me to - My Aunt Della was furious!
ReplyDelete"She asked me to." Sure BJ, I've heard that one before. ;) You should check out this link: http://www.prx.org/pieces/73865 --"two little girls explain the worst haircut ever." I probably should have included it in my blog post... it's pretty funny.
DeleteYour poem is hilarious and I bet there are quite a few brothers and sisters who can relate. We had the giant Barbie head that also had hair that didn't grow! So annoying.
ReplyDeleteOh yes... "the head." I had one too-- drew the make up on with magic marker (death to toys I was at that age).
DeleteThis is adorable. It is the right (rite?) of every older sister to cut a sib's hair. My brother's hairdo, after I fixed it, required a buzz-cut.
ReplyDeleteLuckily we caught it before the buzz cut stage! Probably just as well you didn't become a hair stylist, though.
DeleteLove your poem, Michelle!! I was responsible for my son needing a buzz cut once. I was trying to fix a bad haircut he had gotten at the barber. Whoops!
ReplyDeleteThanks Tabatha. :) Good to know. I'll be sure to pass you by next time I need a trim then.
DeleteYes, I had a Crissy doll. What a funny little poem! We've all been there. I had many a ruined Barbies with bad haircuts.
ReplyDeleteOh Margaret, we should have had a playdate!
DeleteThanks for the shout-out, Michelle, and I love your poem. You've started big conversations with this "she told me to, you see", and I love that final line! My own poem was a 'slight' change, but the memory is that I cut my twin cousins' hair, quite badly, & ended up paying for pro haircuts for them both out of my meager savings. Never again! I don't remember the dolls; my daughter didn't like dolls so we never explored. Thanks for a good laugh today!
ReplyDeleteYikes! That's pretty harsh hitting you in the piggy bank like that. I take it you must have been a bit older than 5 at the time...? I wasn't really a doll person either, but I think my mother wanted me to be one. I took much better care of my stuffed animals.
DeleteLove the poem Michelle. I could just imagine the horror in your face. At least, you have a stylist in your hands! :) This made me smile today.
ReplyDeleteI still remember my son coming to me, so proud, with my daughter's hair in his chubby little hand. I just about died. I don't know about a stylist, but now, at 13, he does give an awesome massage. And, frankly, that's even better! Glad I could make you smile, Myra.
DeleteI am giggling! And I am remembering when our Georgia cut her own bangs in school...in first grade! Thank you for the laugh. So funny how hair changes and surprises us. Happy Poetry Friday!
ReplyDeleteThis blog welcomes any and all giggles! Thanks Amy, for the comment, and of course for hosting too!
DeleteMy son cut my daughter's Barbie's hair so that he could practice tying flies. (The really odd part about that it I never saw him go fishing.)
ReplyDeleteFun poem, Michelle.
LOL...likely story.
DeleteOh, my...we all have such stories. It was the hair of an antique doll for me...I still remember that afternoon of remorse and recrimination.
ReplyDeleteOuch! Sorry to remind you of that, Tara.
DeleteHahaha! Good one!
ReplyDeleteGlad you enjoyed it, Ruth!
DeleteHa! Short (like the hair), sweet, wry! [Name note: my daughter is Daisy Miranda and my son is Duncan nearly Dylan. Would love to get coffee and discuss how we got to those!]
ReplyDeleteMe too, Heidi! But until that coffee date, let's just assume great minds think alike. ;)
Delete