Please Don't Call Me Sir PART II

I do not have many memories of my early childhood. What I do remember is somewhat sketchy and most of the memories are stories that have been told to me by my family. I do remember that at the age of 5 I did not like like the way my mother dressed me or did my hair. Five year old children do not have much control over their clothing, but I did find a way to have some say over my appearance. When I had some natural separation from my mother by attending school, I realized I could control my hair. I would simply just undo what she had done. Each day when I got seated and situated on the school bus, and when the bus had driven far enough away for me to feel a safe distance from home, the pig tails and barrettes were removed! This was my first act of liberation from something I felt to be unnatural. However, removal was the easy part...trying to get those pig tails back in on the bus ride home was a much different story.

At some point before the age of 9 I had convinced my mother to let me get my hair cut. The cut was a page boy style. I was so happy and relieved. There was a great picture of me with this fresh cut. Sadly I think it was destroyed in a washing machine. The picture was of an 8 or 9 year old child in a navy turtle neck with navy and white plaid pants with white tennis shoes. The child in that picture would not easily be labeled one gender or the other. It was impossible to tell. As a child, not really knowing why, I was happy with that outcome.

My concerns and issues with my hair would be as concerning to me throughout my life as my mother's hair issues were to her. My mother had a standing weekly appointment with a hair dresser. It did not matter what was happening in the universe, my mother had her hair done and make up on. If for some reason, like there was a natural disaster and she couldn't get there, she had wigs. Wigs would serve her in emergency situations. I was also obsessed with hair, with it being short and it being situated on my head with absolute perfection. I always had a little black comb in my back pocket. As the years passed I would experiment with it being shorter and shorter. I did go through a very brief stage of letting it grow in the 80's. Not because I was feeling any sense of "girlness" but because it was the style for many males, especially those in bands. I spent a lot of time with my cousins in the 80's, all of them were in garage bands. So, I experimented. I even went so far as to let my aunt give me a perm. I was going for a Rick Savage/Def Leppard look, but ultimately I looked like Annie. That put an end to hair experiments. My hair would forever be short and sometimes when the mood would strike, even completely bald; shaved, cue-ball, shiny bald! Even though I have a strong preference for complete baldness, it is just too far over in the non-conformist lane, professionally. Plus, I tired quickly of people assuming I was undergoing chemo.

Many women have short hair, many women can even pull off being bald and still easily pass for a woman. This was not the case for me. I look very much like my father and without makeup, jewelry, or something to highlight what feminine facial features I have, I couldn't easily pass as female, as a child or an adult.