For some reason the age becomes cloudy almost ghost like in my head and for some reason I don't remember my kid brother being there, being part of my story , but better yet I can't remember my older brother either. Which means this is MY story.
I must have been seven or maybe eight but I could definitely have been only five since I was always told I was precocious. I was told I was the type of girl that could understand lots without much explanation.
It could have been because my mother by profession a beautician she had her salon in the back of our house and one of the windows of my bedroom would coincidentally be a part of such salon. I knew a lot about men and the neighborhood and the ladies that would clutch hard unto their pearls. That window taught me more than all my years in college would ever teach me.
Early on I learned that although women are often described as fickle more fickle were the men and the opposite gender would always be a mystery. I also learned that promises were really hard to keep. I learned about good hair and the extremes that some women would go through to be who they think they should be.
Growing up in the 70's my mother had dark red hair enviable by the most expensive of Bordeaux. Deep and lovely was that color to the point I thought my mother was a natural born red head. I remember her one afternoon wearing an Indian caftan in peacock blue that had silver threads running through and the sun was setting in our Caribbean island and her hair appeared to have been on fire. She looked at me that afternoon as she raised one of her perfectly penciled eyebrow and said to me " Love I will be right back."
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| One of the few color photos of the red hair I have... top right that would be me as a baby. |
I saw her flowing gown disappeared to the back of the house as she walked into her beauty salon and the door closed shut.
Two hours later she reappeared and she was now a blonde.
The shock what happened? Who was she?
Two days later I was told to wear my yellow dress the one that I would wear when we had somewhere important to be. I dab some perfume as she was teasing her now blonde mane. She chose a bright red lipstick and a black blouse with gold accessories. We drove for what seemed like a few minutes and we arrived to a large building close to the beach that housed many of the yuppies on the island. Near a beach and equipped with gyms and large mirrors. A gated community of apartment buildings for the
creme de la creme.
She stood stoically on the balcony of the apartment smoking her Benson and Hedges and drinking her
Licor 43 with milk and cinnamon. She shoos me away and I begin to run up and down the halls of the fancy building. During one of my runs I spot a blonde dress in black with gold accessories her nails showed me quickly it was not my mother as she waved her cigarette in the air and laughed the loudest.
My mother had the hands of a woman that scrubbed and washed for a living.
Suddenly I see those perfectly manicured hands caress the face of my father as she exhales her cigarette smoke she leans in and kisses my father. It is then the moment I realized why my beautiful mother is now a blonde.
I ran back to her and she was standing still with cocktail in hand. I ran back to profess my love for her. It is then when I decided I would never be a blonde.
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| Dark Hair Power ;) |
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| One None Blonde |
Hope your weekend thus far is glorious... Stay Sweet.
