Hair Stories, Part Four

Remember us talking about Grandma Julia and how she never colored her hair? Did you?

Daddy went to the drugstore and got brown hair color. He told the clerk that I had dyed my hair and it was for me. It was for my brother Greg, who had bleached his blond. Daddy had a pony about it.
Shirley and I were talking recently. She told me that her father, Lloyd Anderson told her that thinking something and doing something were the same thing. Well, I didn't know Lloyd's advice at the time but certainly could see if I was going to be blamed for something I could just as well carry it out. Fourteen year olds are rockets on the way to happen.
And so it was that Anita Youngblood and I went to town and bought a bottle of peroxide. She wanted to experiment with one little part of hair color change in the front. Me? I washed my hair in it, did not rinse it out, set it, and went to bed. The next morning I had this abrasive colored hair. Oh, I thought it was wonderful.
Mother was in the sanatorium in Crookston, I would have to face her wrath if I didn't go to see her. I did not know daddy was going to have a problem with it. He asked me if I dyed my hair, and I told him no. Sunday came too soon and we were off to Crookston to see Mother. She asked me what had I done to my hair. Of course I told her every detail. Daddy said I asked you if you dyed your hair and you said no. I reminded him I did not dye it but bleached it with peroxide. That was when I learned that when backed into a corner; I am very literal. :)
Mother came home from the hospital after a six month stay. By now I had major dark roots and copper penny ends. I will tell you I was sent to the beauty salon post haste and it was cut as short as was dared in those days. But fall, I would have all brown hair again, just in time for my yearly permanent.
Anita, on the other hand simply told her parents she was helping me and must have gotten some on her hair. Like her mother, the ruler of the universe and all knowing didn't know that story? Anita was required to tell the truth, if she didn't she was punished. She could say because I thought it would be neat and that was excuse enough; even when she carved her boyfriends initials in her leg with a razor blade.

Hair Stories, Part Five coming up. Jump right in, folks!

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