2.18 Perms

Betty 1951, Sonora

Carleen always gave us a Toni the day before school pictures; she was making us beautiful. She shampooed our hair, yanked our snarls with a sharp-toothed comb, then sat us in a row at the yellow Formica kitchen table. With old bath towels draped over our shoulders, Betty, Claudia, and I perched on the matching vinyl chairs, waited our turn. First, she Scotch-taped our wet bangs to our foreheads, then with Mom’s good sewing scissors, snipped them straight across. Starting at the crowns of our heads, she carefully wrapped each combed lock with a little white square of tissue paper, then tightly rolled it in pink plastic rods, ordering us to, “Sit still and quit whining.” Finally, she poured the processing solution over our heads, into our eyes and down our backs, tilting her head sideways so she wouldn’t pass out from the reek of ammonia. We held the cotton strips tight to our forehead so we wouldn’t go blind.

Claudia 1951, Sonora

By morning, our bangs had shrunk three inches above our eyebrows, four inches where there were cowlicks. Flat on top, the rest of our hair was so tight and curly it stuck out in triangles on each side like Bozo the Clown, but one side was always higher than the other, so it looked like our hair was on crooked. We also stank to high heaven for a week.

Cathy 1956, 3rd grade

One year, the year I was eight, Mom put Betty and Claudia in charge of my hair. They took me to a barbershop and pocketed the balance of what it would have cost at the beauty salon.

Leaving the barbershop in tears, my sisters made me trail ten feet behind, saying I looked like a boy and so ugly they couldn’t be seen with me, laughing and taunting “we don’t even know you” and calling me a “poor little orphan girl.”

Cathy 1958, 5th grade

However, I think my hair did look better in my school picture that year.

to be continued…

© 2018. Catherine Sevenau.
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