A stroll down memory lane

I am back. It was a wonderous weekend. There was the cold rain on Saturday and the even colder, but sunnier, Sunday. It must be November. US Thanksgiving is upon us, as is my brother's birthday and my anniversary (my mother's birthday passed)(why did you all not chip in and get her a gift? I know she was disappointed, though I am not to sure who "appointed" her.).

While I am here, I must mark something "important" in my life. Well, as the years pass, it does lose that sense of importance, even still. Tomorrow, November 18th, is the 30th anniversay of me getting my hair permed.

Stop the laughter. I was in grade 9. Now, when I had my full head of hair, it was pencil straight and fine in texture (my father's was baby fine, you could have run those lice combs through our hair, preferably free of lice nits, and there would be no pulling or tugging or screaming. I did not need that "No More Tangles" shit as my hair just did not tangle.

Anyway, everytime I got my haircut (it was like a bowl cut or Prince Valiant cut, how attractive, with the cheesy 14 year old moustache (I was 14, the moustache was not that old) and braces) the dude kept mentioning a perm or body perm. I finally relented and November 18, 1978, was the day. I got home and did not recognize myself. I tried to wash my hair a number of times to get rid of the smell of the perm solution. It smelled like I was farting....after I had eaten rotting mice.

Anyway, that night, it was a Saturday, I went to my buddy's house, on the way to another friend's house. I get to Neil's and he falls on the floor laughing. We get to the other Neil's and he does a double take. I am immediately taken downstairs to show his brother, 3 years older and with a perm himself. We compare notes and tug at each other's hair. This was the night when Carrie Fisher hosted SNL and the Blues Brothers were the musical guests, by the way (how is that for a freakish memory).

It was earlier that day, as I was walking home from the bus stop, that my mother drove right by me. Either she did not recognize me or she was completely stunned out. The jury is still out on that one as to which is the true answer.

I get to school on the Monday, and my teachers do not recognize me. It is freaking them out. It was a point of conversation that when my brother got to grade 7 and had the same gym teacher that I had (which was a good 4 years later--1982), he was asked if he was going to get a perm like his brother. The funniest part is that a good friend of mine, with very curly hair, had that very weekend, began fluffing his hair. So you had two skinny, white dudes with afros or the white kid equivalents. We looked like two used Q-Tips (both of us had brown hair, now he has less than I as he shaves his head, but even still I "out hair" him).

To this day, I still wonder about why I did it. We would have our school photos done soon after, so there I was with curly hair, braces and cheesy moustache for all the world to see. The best part is there are small copies of that year's school pictures that my grandmother had in a small, lucite frame. When she died, my mother put frame in her front hall.

Now, the Lad and his cousins, get to see me in all my former glory. The best part is that they all cannot believe that it was my real hair. It is made harder for them to grasp since my mother has an afro wig, so they think that I was wearing that. They cannot think back 30 years. Dumb kids. Or was I the dumb kid?

Enough about me...ciao!