Locks of Love

After staring at my computer screen for twenty minutes straight, I finally came up with a couple ideas to guest blog with. I'm MIT Mommy's niece, guest blogging for her while she goes on vacation with three of my cute, adorable little cousins, and of course my uncle. I am the oldest cousin on this side of my family, at only 14 (and a half!) years old, standing at a mere 5'1'', and with extremely curly, reddish-brown hair. My youngest girl cousin, Gladys, also has the same (slightly thinner) curly hair in a peachy-blonde color. I thought I'd write an open letter to her, discussing this topic: hair.

Dear Gladys:
You know how people say that one will always want whatever they do not already have? People usually repeat this phrase when, say, their teenage children MUST ABSOLUTELY HAVE those shoes or when comparing everyday things. Well, Gladys, I've learned that this phrase also applies to hair.
Both you and I swam in the gene pool and took with us the one gene that gave us this mass of hair that gets us branded as: "spunky! flirty! wild!" in all the fashion magazines. This much is true; however, you must learn to love those curls.
When I was a little bit older than you, I danced ballet. One day, my mom made me a little white skirt with black flowers on it to go over my black leotard. She had some fabric left over, so she made a little scrunchie to match. I remember twirling around in my new skirt, adoring it, much like you do with shoes. But then I took a look in the mirror, and saw little frizzy curls popping out of the ponytail that was pulled back with the new scrunchie.
Now, at this point in time, there was a television show called "Wishbone", and one of the main characters had beautiful, long, blonde, straight hair. All I wanted was to have my hair look like hers someday. When she put her hair in a ponytail, it never frizzed up like mine. So my solution? Cut off the frizz.
So there I am, sitting in the closet, chopping off all the hair that stuck out of the ponytail. (Do NOT attempt at home, kids.) At that time, I thought it looked better. But while it grew out (for the next five years), I was miserable.
The moral of this story? Gladys, I know there will be times where you HATE your hair. You will want to cut it all off and start brand new. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. There will be times where you cry over your hair. You will, at one point, straighten your hair.
But then, one day, you'll realize: none of that is really you. No matter what you try to do to comb it out, straighten it, gel it down; none of it will ever satisfy you. Your hair was meant to be curly, and deep down, you'll figure out that you actually love your hair. My mother always told me how lucky I was to have the hair she always dreamed of having, and that I would grow into it eventually. My reaction to this was always, "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Ma." But someday in the future, you will find this to be true, and believe me: when that day comes, you'll be thankful that you landed that gene. No more ponytails, buns, clip after clip after clip holding back the frizz. Leave it. Be proud with that self-described spunky, flirty, wild hair. Curly sisters unite!
I love you Gladys! Have fun on your trip!
Locks of Love, Rebecca :D