Mother

Mother by Vulnerable

There have been a few instances that I have been exposed to in my life that have made me extremely interested in hair and the emotions behind it. There are still a large number of people that are unaware of this emotion. I hope by more exposure from this site that more can become educated to this.

In the late 1960s I had a childhood friend that was very nice looking and 16 years old. We had been in grade school together since first grade. In those days we were experimenting with a lot of things and our bodies were one of them. In that respect we decided to go natural like the hippies of that era and just grew our hair long and stopped shaving our underarms and legs and wore faded long baggy jeans and t-shirts. Nothing else short of getting caught for illegal activities would have made our parents more upset, angry, or disappointed. In those days, it seems that all the older people in charge were upset with hair on young people including the old bat we had for a gym teacher. For privacy I will change her name to Mrs. Pringle. This old bat was a WWII era veteran that was heavily into how people look naturally with her military background. I just wish we had known this at the time. It might have made it easier on us.

Our gym days were on Tuesdays and Thursdays and we dreaded it cause she always made it a point to mention our grooming when we wore our short pants and could see the hair on our legs, but we would not dare get near a razor for the sake of pride. She was constantly upset with us in gym because we refused to tie our hair back. Like I mentioned, we wanted to go natural in those days. The more our parents and the teachers mentioned our grooming or the lack of it the more we flaunted it and made an issue of it. Wild untamed hair and unshaven body hair is something that seriously upset the adults of the 60s.

I guess the final straw of our hippie rebellion was when my friend Libby and I decided to wear our sleeveless tanks to school the next day and to let everyone see our unshaven pits. Little did I know that several of the teachers got together and called our mothers even before lunch that day. We got a lot of oohs and ahhs and some negative and positive comments from the kids and even a few cold stares but we loved the attention.

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When school was out everything happened as usual. My mom picked up Libby and I and we were on the way home. Libby usually hung around for about an hour and then she usually walked home the rest of the way. Her home was just around the corner. The first sign of unusual activity was when mom parked in the driveway, she got a bag out of the trunk of the car from the dept store downtown. I asked what it was but she said I would find out soon. That statement made me a little nervous at the time but I did not know why. When the three of us walked into the kitchen Libby and I saw the second sign of something unusual. Libby’s mom was in our kitchen drinking a cup of coffee, which was very unusual because she always worked until 7pm. My mom opened up the dialogue.

She said the principal called today and said the hippie rebellion of ours was going to have to stop immediately because of the disruption to the classes. She went on to quote her by repeating that the hippie thing was ok for California but not here. She said that the young boys and girls were expected to practice socially acceptable grooming. She said the other option was for us not to return to school there until we complied. They both said in unison that not returning to school is not an option. They had us go into the master bedroom with the large bathroom and asked us to strip to our bras and panties. While they stood there they had us shave our legs and under our arms. Mine was so long and thick it took a while. I cried through the whole thing because we were so big at school and bragged that we would never shave and no one could make us. At the time I did not know how we would face people in gym class when we wore shorts.

The next part was the worst. Libby’s mom was a hairdresser by profession and she got out her bag and said she was going to cut our hair nicely. I ran for the door and my mom grabbed me. Libby was hysterical and crying and curled up in the corner. My mom was too strong for me. She hurled me into the chair at the dresser and told me to sit. Libby’s mom took her scissors and my mom told her to give me the cut that they discussed. I was crying and sobbed, “Please don’t cut my hair” and “If you have to, please not too short. Please mom, don’t. I will tie it back, I promise.”

She said it was too late for that and then she pushed my head to the side and Libby’s mom started to cut my elbow-length thick chestnut brown hair. She said that I was going to get a stylish short girl’s cut. She said I would have enough to tease on top and give me some height. She placed the scissors just above my left ear and made a hard snip and a large lock of 18-inch hair fell to the floor and forever exposed my delicate virgin ear. She took her scissors and made a rough cut all the way around my hairline. I immediately felt the breeze from the floor fan touch my naked neck. From there I knew there was no use fighting anymore. She cut my hair to about 3 inches on top and from 1 inch to a half inch on the sides. She pulled out a pair of electric clippers and I yelled, “Oh no not that!” and I got up. My mom’s strong hand immediately pushed me back in the seat and told Libby’s mom to continue. She said she was going to taper my neckline like some of the other girls were getting in town. She clippered up my neck about an inch to stubble level. She teased the top and I looked into the mirror when she finally turned me around. I felt the stubble on the back of my neck and saw my exposed ears and I started to cry again.

They gave Libby the same cut. I have to admit that I felt sorry for her for having to do this against her will like me but that is when I felt my first dampness when her neckline was exposed. I have never lived through any ridicule like I did at school the next day but it also opened me up to a whole new world.

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