The vague sound of some old western movie floated into the kitchen from the living room, from where Dad called to me. “You ready for tomorrow, Jackster?”
“I don’t know!” I replied with an agitated tone. “Can we pleaaase be done soon?” I impatiently asked my mom who stood behind me, running her gentle hands through my brunette ends.
“Soon,” she told me, grabbing the scissors again from the counter. “I just need to get the back side a little more rounded for the bob.”
Like I had any clue what that meant. It was August of 2008, the day before kindergarten—the day before my life was promptly launched into action. In an impromptu decision, Mom had decided we should cut my hair short and get rid of all those long, precious inches I had grown in my short four-year life. Snip, snip, snip echoed in my ear as long locks of brown hair fell down the front of my face, tickling my freckles and making me need to sneeze. I shook the feeling away, opening my eyes to our faded orange walls and paint-chipped cabinets. Outside, silhouettes of oak trees danced against the navy sky. More hair ran down the back of my neck, giving me goosebumps and making my shoulders even more tense than they already were. I wasn’t super sad to watch my hair go, but I was more uneasy about the “why” it was going.
I didn’t understand what the big deal was, why this “kindergarten” thing constituted my first-ever haircut. Yet, there was this unfamiliar, murky, scary feeling in my stomach—but I didn’t want Mom and Dad to know. I distracted myself by thinking about the new, unopened crayons in my backpack. Yet, I was still nervous. I hated it. I had never needed to be nervous before. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my fists, my breaths becoming manual and short. Why did I feel this way? I didn’t want to feel this way. I really didn’t like feeling this way.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t-
“I believe I’m done!” Mom interrupted my thoughts, contently twisting my head this way and that way to see all the angles. It made me giggle, so she twisted my head even more dramatically. I became a giggling fit, and Dad walked in to see what all the commotion was about.
“Aww, you did good, hun,” he directed to Mom, crouching down in front of me to get a better look. His already ginormous smile grew larger, his kind bright eyes looking into mine. “You’re gonna have the cutest hairdo of your whole class tomorrow, huh?”
He blew in my face to get some of the fuzz off, making me giggle again. Mom walked around me to crouch down next to me in front of him, her darker eyes bouncing endearingly from Dad to me. I looked at Dad’s super dark, slightly wavy hair compared to Mom’s straight, dirty blonde hair—and giggled at how my hair was the mix of both of theirs. Then I couldn’t stop. Mom gave me a little handheld mirror to look into, and I was met with this new “bob” of mine—I loved it. In a moment, I didn’t feel so nervous anymore.
Nine years later, I sat in a sticky salon chair for my first professional hair appointment. The salon was filled with strong chemical smells, overwhelming my senses. It was pretty though, with the huge windows looking out to the West Texas desert and the interior feeling very boho-esque with animal print-themed hairstyle tools strewn all over the chairs and tables by the perimeter of the room. Excitement buzzed within me as I prepared for my 8th-grade banquet, a highlight of my young life.
“Your baby is just sooo grown up, huh? I remember when she was just this tall!” my hairstylist Sydney spoke extravagantly, like she said all things. She gestured a medium height with one hand while her other held a chunk of my hair. I’d never met her until that day, so I felt extremely shy and let Mom do all the talking. She continued brushing this gray, goopy substance onto it. I watched it all happen in the mirror in front of me, my eyes wide in disbelief. I almost felt bad for my natural brown ends, like they weren’t good enough for me anymore.
“Mmmhm, she’ll be transferring to public high school in the fall, and I don’t want to let her,” Mom joked with Sydney, the two making that small-town chuckle that only small-town folk seem to do.
I felt like I was four years old again. That murky, heavy feeling had returned, and I wanted to just fall through that salon chair into the center of the earth and just forget it all. I stared at myself in the mirror blankly, simply not knowing. I was just scared, afraid of the uncertainties that awaited me—transferring schools, making new friends, and facing tougher classes. The more I tried to push these thoughts aside, the more they consumed me. It unpleasantly disfigured the walls of my mind—these hurtful thoughts of me simply not doing right. Everything could go wrong-
Don’t cry, Jackie, don’t you dare cry. Not now, please, not now.
With glistening eyes, I faintly hear Sydney say that my hair is done. Mom looks up from her Candy Crush, gasping. I can’t help but grin—her dramatic gasps always amused me.
She walked over, her hands immediately going to touch my hair’s new blonde ends. I went to touch it too, and it was the softest my hair had ever been! I could hardly believe it. I looked up, my face beaming at Mom, and she looked back at me with so much endearment and admiration—I felt like the prettiest girl in the entire world. My eyes come back to themselves in the mirror, and my eyes are still glistening, but not for the same reasons as before. Suddenly, my mom is holding up her phone to my face, and Dad’s face is blown up on the FaceTime call.
“Jacksterrr!” he began before the compliments came raining down like a storm. Laughter and light-hearted conversation filled the salon, and I didn’t feel so weighted.
Finally, a few more years later, in July of 2022, I found myself sitting in another salon chair in Houston, debating whether to get bangs too after the big chop. If only I could have asked Mom, but she was getting her own hair done elsewhere in the salon, probably feeling as high as I did. If I thought Sydney could make a salon smell strong, I had no idea what I was in for at this place. It was busy, it was loud, and, my goodness, the lighting was far too bright for my comfort. No matter, I was excited to start fresh. I was going to start at Texas Tech the next month after an easy year at a junior college, and I figured it would be a suitable time to start working on my new persona. I figured it would be the best way to distract myself and overcome the typical nerves, as I had finally come to terms with how much of a wreck I become before trying new things.
I asked the stylist to make me look different, and that he did. The shortness, the bangs, the artificial curling—it all certainly did the job. I hardly recognized myself, and that was great with me. Mom liked it too, but I could tell she was surprised at my new appearance.
After Mom and I left the salon, we decided we should meet up with Dad for some food. We met up at the food court, determining sushi was the best way to fuel up for the rest of the day. I was constantly opening my phone’s camera to re-look at my new hair, doubting more and more with each glance whether I truly liked it or not. When Dad first saw me, he did a worse job than Mom at hiding his sheer amazement at how much hair can change a person.
I remember expressing my unending dread about the upcoming new start in my life. Once again, I was starting this huge new thing that would essentially launch me into the rest of my life, depending on how good or bad I did. I, again, would know no one, and I was afraid that the scale of this transition would be too much. I would be a failure. I was facing my worst fears in that food court, and I felt like I couldn’t explain that well to the people in front of me.
“I’m not ready,” I told them, and in my mind, I hoped that they would just agree with me, and I could cancel all my classes and rot away at home forever. Don’t even think about crying.
But my parents did what they always do, and they talked me away from those despairing fears of crashing. In that bustling food court, we talked about everything. The trivial things, the not-so-little things, everything in between—and it helped me breathe. They told me how my hair didn’t look as horrid as I thought it did, and that starting university was just the first chapter of so, so many more. They told me how they would miss me, but they were excited to watch me grow. They told me that they were so, so, so, so proud.
Their kindness was simple but overwhelming. The murk dissipated as we talked about life, school, and everything in between. I opened my phone again to look at my hair, and I felt like it fit me. I would still have to get used to it, but I could tell I liked it. I felt better again. Surprise, surprise.
Looking back on these moments, I see now that it wasn’t just about how I felt before and after the haircuts, but rather the affirmations and fondness that were woven through those delicate moments. The sweet love that surrounded me in that warm orange kitchen, the pungent salon, and the noisy food court was integral to the changes that made me, me. The tenderness of each caring word and gesture made me feel luminous, clearing shadows from dark rooms that had made themselves present in my life many, many times. I am still a very nervous person, finding timely introspection difficult. I don’t regulate my emotions well, and the murk comes back often. But my parents always bring me back down to the ground. Mom and Dad are the most important people in my life, and I’ll never again overlook just how often their simple actions have me trying the biggest, newest things imaginable. A significant part of who I am reflects their affection, and it reminds me that I can do things, no matter how minuscule or colossal. I can only hope that I’ll keep growing with these values, maintaining the impression of these lovely folks who raised me. Even if it’s just me telling my loved ones that their hair looks nice, that’s just fine with me, because I understand now just how important it was to me and my journey.
The vague sound of some old western movie floated into the kitchen from the living room, from where Dad called to me. “You ready for tomorrow, Jackster?”
“I don’t know!” I replied with an agitated tone. “Can we pleaaase be done soon?” I impatiently asked my mom who stood behind me, running her gentle hands through my brunette ends.
“Soon,” she told me, grabbing the scissors again from the counter. “I just need to get the back side a little more rounded for the bob.”
Like I had any clue what that meant. It was August of 2008, the day before kindergarten—the day before my life was promptly launched into action. In an impromptu decision, Mom had decided we should cut my hair short and get rid of all those long, precious inches I had grown in my short four-year life. Snip, snip, snip echoed in my ear as long locks of brown hair fell down the front of my face, tickling my freckles and making me need to sneeze. I shook the feeling away, opening my eyes to our faded orange walls and paint-chipped cabinets. Outside, silhouettes of oak trees danced against the navy sky. More hair ran down the back of my neck, giving me goosebumps and making my shoulders even more tense than they already were. I wasn’t super sad to watch my hair go, but I was more uneasy about the “why” it was going.
I didn’t understand what the big deal was, why this “kindergarten” thing constituted my first-ever haircut. Yet, there was this unfamiliar, murky, scary feeling in my stomach—but I didn’t want Mom and Dad to know. I distracted myself by thinking about the new, unopened crayons in my backpack. Yet, I was still nervous. I hated it. I had never needed to be nervous before. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my fists, my breaths becoming manual and short. Why did I feel this way? I didn’t want to feel this way. I really didn’t like feeling this way.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t-
“I believe I’m done!” Mom interrupted my thoughts, contently twisting my head this way and that way to see all the angles. It made me giggle, so she twisted my head even more dramatically. I became a giggling fit, and Dad walked in to see what all the commotion was about.
“Aww, you did good, hun,” he directed to Mom, crouching down in front of me to get a better look. His already ginormous smile grew larger, his kind bright eyes looking into mine. “You’re gonna have the cutest hairdo of your whole class tomorrow, huh?”
He blew in my face to get some of the fuzz off, making me giggle again. Mom walked around me to crouch down next to me in front of him, her darker eyes bouncing endearingly from Dad to me. I looked at Dad’s super dark, slightly wavy hair compared to Mom’s straight, dirty blonde hair—and giggled at how my hair was the mix of both of theirs. Then I couldn’t stop. Mom gave me a little handheld mirror to look into, and I was met with this new “bob” of mine—I loved it. In a moment, I didn’t feel so nervous anymore.
Nine years later, I sat in a sticky salon chair for my first professional hair appointment. The salon was filled with strong chemical smells, overwhelming my senses. It was pretty though, with the huge windows looking out to the West Texas desert and the interior feeling very boho-esque with animal print-themed hairstyle tools strewn all over the chairs and tables by the perimeter of the room. Excitement buzzed within me as I prepared for my 8th-grade banquet, a highlight of my young life.
“Your baby is just sooo grown up, huh? I remember when she was just this tall!” my hairstylist Sydney spoke extravagantly, like she said all things. She gestured a medium height with one hand while her other held a chunk of my hair. I’d never met her until that day, so I felt extremely shy and let Mom do all the talking. She continued brushing this gray, goopy substance onto it. I watched it all happen in the mirror in front of me, my eyes wide in disbelief. I almost felt bad for my natural brown ends, like they weren’t good enough for me anymore.
“Mmmhm, she’ll be transferring to public high school in the fall, and I don’t want to let her,” Mom joked with Sydney, the two making that small-town chuckle that only small-town folk seem to do.
I felt like I was four years old again. That murky, heavy feeling had returned, and I wanted to just fall through that salon chair into the center of the earth and just forget it all. I stared at myself in the mirror blankly, simply not knowing. I was just scared, afraid of the uncertainties that awaited me—transferring schools, making new friends, and facing tougher classes. The more I tried to push these thoughts aside, the more they consumed me. It unpleasantly disfigured the walls of my mind—these hurtful thoughts of me simply not doing right. Everything could go wrong-
Don’t cry, Jackie, don’t you dare cry. Not now, please, not now.
With glistening eyes, I faintly hear Sydney say that my hair is done. Mom looks up from her Candy Crush, gasping. I can’t help but grin—her dramatic gasps always amused me.
She walked over, her hands immediately going to touch my hair’s new blonde ends. I went to touch it too, and it was the softest my hair had ever been! I could hardly believe it. I looked up, my face beaming at Mom, and she looked back at me with so much endearment and admiration—I felt like the prettiest girl in the entire world. My eyes come back to themselves in the mirror, and my eyes are still glistening, but not for the same reasons as before. Suddenly, my mom is holding up her phone to my face, and Dad’s face is blown up on the FaceTime call.
“Jacksterrr!” he began before the compliments came raining down like a storm. Laughter and light-hearted conversation filled the salon, and I didn’t feel so weighted.
Finally, a few more years later, in July of 2022, I found myself sitting in another salon chair in Houston, debating whether to get bangs too after the big chop. If only I could have asked Mom, but she was getting her own hair done elsewhere in the salon, probably feeling as high as I did. If I thought Sydney could make a salon smell strong, I had no idea what I was in for at this place. It was busy, it was loud, and, my goodness, the lighting was far too bright for my comfort. No matter, I was excited to start fresh. I was going to start at Texas Tech the next month after an easy year at a junior college, and I figured it would be a suitable time to start working on my new persona. I figured it would be the best way to distract myself and overcome the typical nerves, as I had finally come to terms with how much of a wreck I become before trying new things.
I asked the stylist to make me look different, and that he did. The shortness, the bangs, the artificial curling—it all certainly did the job. I hardly recognized myself, and that was great with me. Mom liked it too, but I could tell she was surprised at my new appearance.
After Mom and I left the salon, we decided we should meet up with Dad for some food. We met up at the food court, determining sushi was the best way to fuel up for the rest of the day. I was constantly opening my phone’s camera to re-look at my new hair, doubting more and more with each glance whether I truly liked it or not. When Dad first saw me, he did a worse job than Mom at hiding his sheer amazement at how much hair can change a person.
I remember expressing my unending dread about the upcoming new start in my life. Once again, I was starting this huge new thing that would essentially launch me into the rest of my life, depending on how good or bad I did. I, again, would know no one, and I was afraid that the scale of this transition would be too much. I would be a failure. I was facing my worst fears in that food court, and I felt like I couldn’t explain that well to the people in front of me.
“I’m not ready,” I told them, and in my mind, I hoped that they would just agree with me, and I could cancel all my classes and rot away at home forever. Don’t even think about crying.
But my parents did what they always do, and they talked me away from those despairing fears of crashing. In that bustling food court, we talked about everything. The trivial things, the not-so-little things, everything in between—and it helped me breathe. They told me how my hair didn’t look as horrid as I thought it did, and that starting university was just the first chapter of so, so many more. They told me how they would miss me, but they were excited to watch me grow. They told me that they were so, so, so, so proud.
Their kindness was simple but overwhelming. The murk dissipated as we talked about life, school, and everything in between. I opened my phone again to look at my hair, and I felt like it fit me. I would still have to get used to it, but I could tell I liked it. I felt better again. Surprise, surprise.
Looking back on these moments, I see now that it wasn’t just about how I felt before and after the haircuts, but rather the affirmations and fondness that were woven through those delicate moments. The sweet love that surrounded me in that warm orange kitchen, the pungent salon, and the noisy food court was integral to the changes that made me, me. The tenderness of each caring word and gesture made me feel luminous, clearing shadows from dark rooms that had made themselves present in my life many, many times. I am still a very nervous person, finding timely introspection difficult. I don’t regulate my emotions well, and the murk comes back often. But my parents always bring me back down to the ground. Mom and Dad are the most important people in my life, and I’ll never again overlook just how often their simple actions have me trying the biggest, newest things imaginable. A significant part of who I am reflects their affection, and it reminds me that I can do things, no matter how minuscule or colossal. I can only hope that I’ll keep growing with these values, maintaining the impression of these lovely folks who raised me. Even if it’s just me telling my loved ones that their hair looks nice, that’s just fine with me, because I understand now just how important it was to me and my journey.