Happy Tuesday, My Friend!
Lately, my Facebook feed has shown me pictures of past eras, namely the ’60s and the ’70s. I’m sure it’s because the little people living inside my phone and computer have decided they know exactly what I like to look at and are feeding me a steady diet. I can hear them now . . . “Oh! She did it again! She’s stalling at a picture of styles of the 1970s! Quick! Feed her some more! Throw in bridesmaid dresses from the ’60s! That will really get her!” And get me, it does, queen of nostalgia that I am.
One of the sites that I could scroll through for the rest of my life is the one with horrendous family photos. Some of them are just unfortunate moments captured on film, like nose-picking or sibling-punching. Many others involve interesting wardrobe choices or poses that make one scratch one’s head.
All these old photos hearkened to mind a time when my family of origin had a professional photo session. No nose-picking or sibling punches for us, but I do have a pretty good hair story to share with you.
I was about 16 years old at the time. That would have made my brother 22 and my sister 24. It would have been around 1975 or 1976. My dad was dressed as a typical dad: suit and tie, dad glasses, nothing out-of-the-ordinary. My mom, if memory serves, was wearing a skirt and a cowl-neck sweater. My sister—a striped turtleneck, gauchos, and knee-high boots. She had an immaculate “Toni Tenille” haircut. (Some of you may have a lot of Googling to do.) My brother wore a plaid sports jacket and other perfectly acceptable garments. I remember his hair being a bit longish at the time, and I’m pretty sure our mom would have preferred it to be shorter. He also had a mustache that I just discovered (thank you, Google) is called a “horseshoe mustache.” (Probably another point of contention with our mom.) But who does our mother cart off to the hair salon (“beauty shop” as we called them then)?? Me! “Why?” I ask you, “Why?”
I had short hair at the time, so there wasn’t much to work with, but darned if that hairdresser didn’t work me over, but good! And this all occurred immediately before our sitting at the photography studio, so there was no time to cry and run home and comb it out.
I’m not sure what the woman who did my hair was thinking, but this may have been her vision for me that day: “I’m going to pouf up your hair with rollers, tease it up some more, and then spray the devil out of it so nothing will move for at least four days. You should end up looking like an angry 47-year-old woman.” If this was her objective, she nailed it.
The whole idea back when I was a teen was to have hair that was “feathered” (a very important word in the ’70s) away from the face. Side hair swooping toward the face was totally 1960s and totally not me. Tell that to that hairdresser. She had it swooping and bending in all the wrong directions. I wasn’t one to balk at my elders, but when she spun that chair around to show me her finished masterpiece in the mirror, I almost cried. Even my mom realized that, at that moment, I looked older than she did. I wanted to break out into a song. . “I am 16, going on 47. Oh, how I hate my hair! Pouf it all up and make me look old! How people will stop and stare!”
Attempts were made to lower the height and bring in the sides, but with all that hairspray, it was a lost cause. Plus, it was time to go down the street to the photography studio. All I could hope for was that it was either pouring out (nope, it was winter) or that I’d meet my Maker before having to make this unbearable coif part of our family room décor for years.
To make matters worse, as if there is anything worse for a 16-year-old girl than awful hair, there’s the matter of how I held my hands in the photo. All of my family members did “normal” things with their hands. I don’t know what possessed me (unless I was higher than a kite from all that hairspray) to do what I did with my hands. The photographer never corrected me, so not only is my hair commemorated on canvas, but my bodybuilder’s “side pose” is as well. (Again, thank you, Google, for helping identify this pose.)
I was sitting on a low stool next to my mom. I was clad in a green corduroy skirt, the shade of green was, I’d say, “hideous” green, and an orange turtleneck sweater. I was turned to the side and put both of my hands on my left hip, thus striking a bit of a muscley pose. The only problem was that I was skinny as a rail, so this made no sense whatsoever. I thought that if it looked odd, the photographer would instruct me otherwise. No instructions were given, so I thought I passed muster.
The end result was a scrawny, awkward teenage girl with poofed-up hair looking like she was trying to compete in a Ms. Olympia contest. Lord, help me.
That family portrait hung on my parents’ living room wall for decades. I’ve learned a few things from that experience. One is to never, and I mean never, get your hair done by someone you don’t know and trust immediately before you are to be photographed. Leave some time to undo the travesty that has occurred. Secondly, don’t do weird things with your hands. And third, as in the movie, “Meatballs,” Bill Murray chants repeatedly, “It just doesn’t matter! It just doesn’t matter!”
It’s easy now for me to look back at that tragic hair story and say to myself, It just didn’t matter! I have lived a full and happy life despite the ridiculous look I had in that family photo. Today, I’m trying to filter out the things that truly matter and let those “no big deals” go down the drain where they belong. Bad hair day? It just doesn’t matter. Dustballs still tumbling from room to room? It just doesn’t matter. Someone you’d like to impress thinks you’re weird? It just doesn’t matter.
How I treat other people—matters. Telling my family I love them—matters. Thanking God every day for the crazy number of times He’s blessed me—really matters!
I hope you can find plenty of “good matter” in your life this week! And try to let the rest go down the drain!
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
PS—I’m headed to California next week, so I won’t get to write to you again until April 28. I wish you all a very Happy Easter30-33 “If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers—most of which are never even seen—don’t you think He’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do His best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and the way He works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how He works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.” Matthew 6:30-33 (The Message)