By Dean K Miller
A father is always making his baby into a little woman.
And when she is a woman he turns her back again.
~Enid Bagnold
With three young girls, laughter, squeals and giggles reverberated off the walls, filling every corner of our home. One of their favorite, and thankfully, less boisterous activities, was playing "hair salon." I would be called for my "appointment" after they'd run out of options on their own flowing braids. Back then I had enough hair to beautify with their plastic barrettes, colorful ribbons and stretchy rubber bands. Sitting patiently, three pairs of small hands worked through my hair, I'd hear a snap, feel a slight tug on my scalp, and then snickering behind me.
A father is always making his baby into a little woman.
And when she is a woman he turns her back again.
~Enid Bagnold
With three young girls, laughter, squeals and giggles reverberated off the walls, filling every corner of our home. One of their favorite, and thankfully, less boisterous activities, was playing "hair salon." I would be called for my "appointment" after they'd run out of options on their own flowing braids. Back then I had enough hair to beautify with their plastic barrettes, colorful ribbons and stretchy rubber bands. Sitting patiently, three pairs of small hands worked through my hair, I'd hear a snap, feel a slight tug on my scalp, and then snickering behind me.
"Ohhh, that's looks so beautiful, doesn't it?" More laughter.
"Yes, it is so much prettier than before." Clapping and jumping accompanied the giggles.
When my appointment was finished I was handed a mirror. Of course, I conveyed my approval of their work as they pointed out their own contributions.
Through the years, as their hair grew in length, mine crept in the opposite direction. For the girls, a scrunchie, a cloth-covered hair tie, became the rage. Available in all sizes, colors, and textures, they pushed the rubber band into obscurity. Hair fashion hit the youth market. The girls' ensembles were not complete without a matching scrunchie. It didn't take long for the bathroom drawer to overflow with enough of them to stock the local Claire's boutique.
When my daughters started playing team sports, it became necessary to fashion hair ties in colors to match their uniforms. Under the guise of team bonding, pizza parties served as a means to create coordinated hair decorations. Pinking shears and colored fabric covered the floor. By the end of the evening, shreds of material were everywhere, often accented by pizza sauce or a chocolate milk spill.
By the time my oldest daughter reached nine years of age, she enjoyed watching basketball games on television. As a special treat for her, I acquired two tickets to a Seattle Supersonics basketball game. Our father/daughter outing kicked off with a gourmet meal at McDonald's followed by our arrival at Key Arena shortly before tipoff. During the first half, we enjoyed popcorn (over-salted) and soda (over-sugared and under-carbonated).
My daughter's first NBA game needed a memento, something besides a ticket stub. I suggested we go look for something to take home. She jumped out of her chair and was already skipping up the stairs before I got out of my seat. Out on the concourse we located a souvenir stand and her skipping resumed. Pom-poms, stuffed animals, mini basketballs and T-shirts hung on metal hooks. She was undecided until her gaze focused on a scrunchie emblazoned with the Sonics logo. Her finger shot out as if she'd seen an elephant across the room.
"That. I want that... the scrunchie."
I paid for the ridiculously over-priced hair tie without further consideration. Returning to our seats, we enjoyed our food and drink, cheering a rare Sonics win. My "date" fell asleep on the one-hour drive home, her new Sonics scrunchie taken from her hair and moved to her wrist for safekeeping.
Her collection of scrunchies continued to grow, until the fashion changed. Without warning, slimmer, sleeker athletic style hair bands replaced the scrunchies. Eventually most were sold at garage sales or given away. But not all of them found their way to a new home.
When the time arrived for her to leave for college, I was worried. Foremost, had I done the right things to prepare her for life away from home? Then next, would she eat enough or get enough sleep? All of the things I could no longer control scared me.
On the morning of her departure, with most of her life and its few belongings loaded into her car, I picked up the final piece to be loaded — her nightstand. Carrying it down the stairs, the top drawer opened a bit. From the back of the drawer slid the Sonics scrunchie purchased nearly a decade ago. I hadn't known she had kept it and I decided to keep the discovery to myself. The day was difficult enough. Any new emotions from me would only dampen her excitement. I maneuvered the nightstand onto the back seat, pulled open the drawer and took one last look at that souvenir scrunchie. Dabbing the tears from my eyes, I closed the car door.
"Looks like you've got everything, at least the important stuff."
"Yeah, I think I've got it," she replied, not knowing how true that was, at least for me.
She pulled out of the driveway, starting the next chapter of her life. Knowing that her Sonics scrunchie was going with her made it a little easier to say goodbye.
"Yes, it is so much prettier than before." Clapping and jumping accompanied the giggles.
When my appointment was finished I was handed a mirror. Of course, I conveyed my approval of their work as they pointed out their own contributions.
Through the years, as their hair grew in length, mine crept in the opposite direction. For the girls, a scrunchie, a cloth-covered hair tie, became the rage. Available in all sizes, colors, and textures, they pushed the rubber band into obscurity. Hair fashion hit the youth market. The girls' ensembles were not complete without a matching scrunchie. It didn't take long for the bathroom drawer to overflow with enough of them to stock the local Claire's boutique.
When my daughters started playing team sports, it became necessary to fashion hair ties in colors to match their uniforms. Under the guise of team bonding, pizza parties served as a means to create coordinated hair decorations. Pinking shears and colored fabric covered the floor. By the end of the evening, shreds of material were everywhere, often accented by pizza sauce or a chocolate milk spill.
By the time my oldest daughter reached nine years of age, she enjoyed watching basketball games on television. As a special treat for her, I acquired two tickets to a Seattle Supersonics basketball game. Our father/daughter outing kicked off with a gourmet meal at McDonald's followed by our arrival at Key Arena shortly before tipoff. During the first half, we enjoyed popcorn (over-salted) and soda (over-sugared and under-carbonated).
My daughter's first NBA game needed a memento, something besides a ticket stub. I suggested we go look for something to take home. She jumped out of her chair and was already skipping up the stairs before I got out of my seat. Out on the concourse we located a souvenir stand and her skipping resumed. Pom-poms, stuffed animals, mini basketballs and T-shirts hung on metal hooks. She was undecided until her gaze focused on a scrunchie emblazoned with the Sonics logo. Her finger shot out as if she'd seen an elephant across the room.
"That. I want that... the scrunchie."
I paid for the ridiculously over-priced hair tie without further consideration. Returning to our seats, we enjoyed our food and drink, cheering a rare Sonics win. My "date" fell asleep on the one-hour drive home, her new Sonics scrunchie taken from her hair and moved to her wrist for safekeeping.
Her collection of scrunchies continued to grow, until the fashion changed. Without warning, slimmer, sleeker athletic style hair bands replaced the scrunchies. Eventually most were sold at garage sales or given away. But not all of them found their way to a new home.
When the time arrived for her to leave for college, I was worried. Foremost, had I done the right things to prepare her for life away from home? Then next, would she eat enough or get enough sleep? All of the things I could no longer control scared me.
On the morning of her departure, with most of her life and its few belongings loaded into her car, I picked up the final piece to be loaded — her nightstand. Carrying it down the stairs, the top drawer opened a bit. From the back of the drawer slid the Sonics scrunchie purchased nearly a decade ago. I hadn't known she had kept it and I decided to keep the discovery to myself. The day was difficult enough. Any new emotions from me would only dampen her excitement. I maneuvered the nightstand onto the back seat, pulled open the drawer and took one last look at that souvenir scrunchie. Dabbing the tears from my eyes, I closed the car door.
"Looks like you've got everything, at least the important stuff."
"Yeah, I think I've got it," she replied, not knowing how true that was, at least for me.
She pulled out of the driveway, starting the next chapter of her life. Knowing that her Sonics scrunchie was going with her made it a little easier to say goodbye.
http://www.chickensoup.com
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