Another Bad Hair Day

My hair grows in a circle around my head and down into my face. I have always coveted the perfectly arranged hair of others as it flowed smoothly down the neck and stayed there. Perfect pageboy or flipped up ends that did not flatten on one side and sway on the other were my hairstyle goals in youth, still unattainable in my senior years. My hairdresser is sympathetic but realistically urges me to accept the "quirkiness of my hair" and embrace it's natural tendencies. Hmmm...seems I have heard that advice before with no reference to my errant locks.

Ol' Abner and I embraced parenthood with joyful anticipation, only to be sunken into the panic of a premature birth with limited expectation of the baby's survival. Only prayer and the reassurance of medical professionals that the latest knowledge for treating and supporting our tiny new being were being used, kept us from total dispair. Not only did the child survive, but surpassed the expectations of her doctors as she thrived. Pediatricians at the medical school asked for updates on her condition as we watched for signs of the trauma she had endured in their valiant effort to keep her alive.

She grew and met the milestones considered normal and sometimes advanced for her age. Some habits were brushed aside as unusual, but not cause for serious concern. Her frustrating inability to sleep more than a few minutes often preceded by a crawl around the crib while pounding her head on the mattress. At just over four months of age, awe at her progress in pulling up on four limbs was expressed. Pounding her head...not to worry, she will soon outgrow it, they told me. Mattress replacements every few months throughout her childhood proved them wrong. Our family physician after witnessing some of her strange symptoms in early adolescence advised me to be vigilant but allow her to find her way. He felt she would one day put these "quirks" behind her. A couple of years later a psychiatrist advised me that he could not change her behavior but would help me "accept and celebrate her quirks". There's that advice again. She still wasn't sleeping at night as we replaced yet another mattress.

As a mother herself now, I am not sure if she sleeps through the night or not. She tells me she no longer pounds her head. I guess they were right, she did outgrow it. Her interpretation of our acceptance of her "quirks" translates to lack of structure. Claiming she so craved structure during her childhood, she works diligently to maintain it for her children. The boundaries she refused to accept in her youth have been firmly planted around her children. No tolerance for quirks is allowed if it disrupts the enforcement of her needed structure. The weaknesses Ol' Abner and I perceived in our parents were the very strengths we sought to nurture in our parenting. So strange to see that same reflection in the rearing of the grandchildren. Now if my hairdresser could just reflect a coiffure without quirks!