‘Narley Dude!’ Is what Jeff Spacoli would have to say about my teenage son dying his hair blonde – for the first
Well attempted. At least he’s smart enough (and picky enough) to know a home kit is not the way to go. So we called up Mary, my grandmothers former hair dresser who has been cutting his hair forever. We trust her, she’s affordable and if for whatever reason he decides to do something stupid with his hair ie. Mohawk, she would be the perfect voice of reason and help me talk him out of it, hopefully.
I remember the first time I had ‘colour’ added to my curly mop. I was 14 and my mom worked with a girl that was a former hairdresser. Her name was Joanne. She was 24. My mom was 35 so she was smack dab in the middle of our generation gap. Not that we had any trouble communicating. But this girl was fun. So she came over one Saturday night. My mom bought me a bottle of Moody Blue (the unfortunately don’t make it any longer but on occasion we make a wine kit that is very, eerily similar) Again I was 14 years old, I know I wouldn’t buy my daughter her own wine to consume while she was getting her hair dyed. Maybe she thought it would help me accept the outcome if it wasn’t what I was expecting, to cushion the shock.
It’s still around, and the store bought kit was called Frost ‘N Tips for about $10 that I had to take from weekend beer fund. I didn’t want to go too committal with a full colour and a streaking/highlight kit would fill the need for a change. With natural curly hair there were not too many options for something different. Aside from shaving it or a pixie cut there was no glory in the painful wait that felt like forever for it to grow enough that the weight would pull it down. The unfortunate part about being a teenager who is uncomfortable with her looks and body image – there are no known pictures of me with the wild side.
Joanne pulled the hair through the cap and since my hair was so thick, man did it hurt! It really hurt but oddly the wine did numb the twinges of pain. Afterward it was a strange sight. Dark brown curly hair with wisps of random blonde strands throughout my head. Not what I expected but it was different and that’s what I wanted to accomplish. Then as I had downed at least half the magnum of wine, I asked if my mom would et me still go out for the evening. Well it was a Saturday night and not quite 9 pm – my curfew was 11 – still plenty of time to cur-rose. My mom, however didn’t forsee me wanting to go out still, assuming I was content with being wasted out home and having my hair done. After a few moments of grovelling, she agreed to let me go out, but only to Dawn’s house cause I pleaded to go so I could show my friend my new look. Apparently, my mom wasn’t too crazy about ‘letting her drunken child wonder the streets at night’. Which is ironic as this is home I wondered home on occasion, undetected.
Forty minutes, and $20 later my son was done. He had been begging me for months to get his hair coloured and honestly, I would quite often forget to make this appointment, not because I didn’t necessarily want him to change but sometimes it was hard to go back to Mary’s house without my grandmother. It was her weekly Saturday ritual for over 40 years, and of the last five, it was my job to drop her off and pick her up every Saturday morning.
Red- it looked more red the blonde. We told him that it more than likely go dirty blonde cause his hair was so dark. But he probably had some natural red highlights in his hair ( just like his mom) however he was fine with it – it looked nice, not drastic.
So the future plan? Redder……no surfer dude delusions, well not this month anyway – it could change and at least it’s not blue or green.
jnflamand_thinks_too_much 