Dear Mom,
For as long as I can remember, the length of my hair has played a part in the formation of my character. My first encounters with hair-envy were at the tender age of five, when I realized that while the other girls in my class wore ponytails, just grazing their shoulders, mine was down to my waist. At the time, I had never had a haircut in my life, and was jealous of the other girls who could swing their head freely, un-burdened by tenuous strands of lead. A few months later at the beauty parlor, the hairdresser gasped at my split ends. “How could she have never had her hair cut?” he questioned my mother. “We’ll have to take it off.” As I watched him cut off no less than a foot of hair, I was jubilant. Finally, I could be like the other girls. I went home with a shaggy bob and a smile on my face. But to the rest of the world, my hair was not attractive. The girls in my class no longer wanted to pet my braids, nor did I receive endless compliments. I was the only person who could see my hair’s beauty, and I soon began to forget why I liked it so much.
My hair grew back, and with it came my confidence. I could hide behind long hair, and create outlandish hair-dos. But when it came to functionality, it never stood a chance against shorter styles. In the summer months, I could never find a ponytail high enough off my neck to allow for any sort of air-circulation. My hair pulled and tugged at my scalp, a constant reminder of the price of beauty. More desperately than ever, I wanted my crude bob back. Without my hair, I would be free.
This past summer, I was determined not to let it go by with un-seasonably long hair. I had a simple wish, to get my hair cut to my chin. The answer, was a distinct no, something I cannot understand. I won’t regret this decision, and if I ever have any doubt, it is my mistake to make. Cutting my hair won’t scalp me of my femininity, nor will it be a rash act of teenage rebellion. This is a formulated action, something I should have done long ago. I am not reliant on praise of my hair, and I will be able to function knowing I’m not the prettiest girl in the room. My hair is my own, and what I do with it is also so.
You and dad have always encouraged individuality, whatever form that may be. My hair has made me an individual, and has put me in an uncomfortable spotlight. It’s now time let other things shine through. After all, hair will grow, but memories are forever.
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