The lady sitting next to me at the hair salon was talking about her hair. She was an attractive older (?) woman with really nice curly hair. Of course she was having it straightened. But she said something that I found led me to many thoughts about
hair. She said"my hair has a story to tell". Here is my hair story. I had very long braids. Red . I sat on them . My Mother washed my hair in the bath tub with Lifebuoy Soup. It was red and I guess she some how thought that would keep my color more vivid.
My hair was so heavy that I needed help lifting my head when I lay back to rinse it. At Mardi Gras time, my Mother would tuck my braids inside my jacket so no one would cut one braid. For some reason, she was more concerned about my losing one braid, then
if I lost both to some drunk. This also shows that rowdiness at Mardi Gras is not a new phenomena. It's been around for a long time. Some where around 1944ish, I had my first hair cut and my hair was sold for $50.00 for the war effort. I should have held out
for more. I had a serious aversion to people touching my hair. People would stop me on the street and touch my hair because of the redness. I hated that and for years I had a problem with any one, friend or stranger touching my hair. My hair has been straight,
permed, colored, not colored, short, shorter, and long. Talk about a story. My hair has one ,too.