Cut.

Today my daughter gave herself a hair cut.

I have heard that this is a normal sort of right of passage for a young lady, and since my daughter is just over four, it must be about that time.

I blame myself.

First of all, I left the scissors out after cutting my sons hair today.

Second...  well...  I don't exactly present an example of long flowing locks as being equal to femininity.  I don't even present with a cute bob as equal to femininity.  So who the heck am I to tell my daughter she can't have a super short haircut?

But I admit, I gave serious pause when she opened the bathroom door, beaming, and her lovely brown hair was strewn all about the floor.  She removed her bangs completely.  There were several random chunks out of the back and sides.  Nothing was the same length.  And it. was. short.

I am certain that shock registered all over my face.

"I cut my hair!"  She was elated.  Empowered.  Glowing.

And I get it.

When you're four years old you don't have a lot of say over many things.  You can't drive.  You can't leave.  You can't use the sharp knives.  You don't have a lot of spending power.  You can't read well.  You don't yet type.  You don't have many friends.

But your hair...well...  that's yours, isn't it?  Isn't it?

I bit my tongue and smiled back at her.

My husband neatened it up a bit, with her permission, and now she's got a pixie-do... minus bangs.

While I was cleaning up the pieces of hair on the floor she said, "Mom, it's okay.  It's just hair.  And it's my hair, so I can cut it if I want to, right?"

Bottom line?

She's RIGHT.

So many of us are horrified when our daughter's take ownership over something as little as their hair.  Something as meaningless.

Hair does not define a person.  It does not define their beauty, their intellect, their emotions, their talents, their gifts, their capacity for love.  Hair is JUST HAIR, Mom.  It's JUST hair.

I've been through the wringer and back about my own choices in hair style - and yet I could feel my voice catching in my throat when it was my little girl.  I thought about my parents' reactions to my hair and I understand it now...  you think... suddenly...  she's not as pretty.

And you HATE that reaction.

That hair DOES matter?  It kills you.  Because it SHOULD.  NOT.  MATTER.

And you'd best bite it back.  And you'd best allow your little girl to OWN that haircut.  And you'd best tell her she's beautiful.  And you'd best MEAN IT.  Because if we are to say that women are more than their bodies.  And if we are to say that women have OWNERSHIP over their bodies, then we'd better apply that to our daughters right now.  And their daughters.  And the girl at the grocery store.  And the older woman who shaves or dyes or cuts or whatever she wants.  We need to look beyond the hair, and see into the soul.

Hair meaning

My friend, Tara at The Organic Sister, posted this blog months ago about her feelings after shaving off her dreadlocks. 

It explains everything I have wished I could say about the experience of shaving one's head so poignantly (and the photographs are spectacular).  If you haven't read Tara's blog, you are seriously missing out, by the way.

In light of this particular post, I wanted to take this opportunity to say that yes, hair is important for a woman.  I don't know how men feel about their hair.  I don't know if it speaks volumes to them and about them.  I don't know if emotions are all wrapped up in it... but for women, they are.

I didn't really "get" this until my head-shaving experience and all that followed and all of the things I learned from going to that place.

People are sort of baffled by me waffling between keeping it short and letting it grow back after these 2.5 years of "baldness".

For some, it seems like a no-brainer:  throw away all that stupid judgement.  Just come on back to society where you belong.

For me...it's not that simple.

For one thing, I have no desire to go anywhere near the society I left when I took a razor to my head for the first time.  I have no desire to revisit, to go back, to re-live, to re-instate, or any other "re's".  I want to leave it where I left it the first time - in strands of gratefulness on the kitchen floor.

But the growing back... for me, while it would be hard - (I tried already twice, and got so fed up with having hair touching my neck that I shaved it off after a couple of months to right where it was before) is about moving forward.  Not re-tracing steps, but taking back power.  Moving ON.  Starting OVER.

It is as though shaving my head the first time removed all that past crap, and then all of the other shavings were precautionary... to keep the crap from coming back.  To keep new crap from creeping in.

I have never felt fulfilled in the place we recently departed.  I always felt a little off.  A little like I didn't really fit.  There were boundaries I had to put up to keep myself safe, to keep myself sane, to keep people out.  II kept on shaving because I had to keep on getting it away from me.  This fog that seemed to hang over the whole area.  Sometimes I thought it would consume me.

It's not to say there aren't amazing things about the place we left - or amazing people in it, or who have come out of it... but for me...there were simply things that were toxic, and I needed to feel clean.

Now that we're on the road...maybe it's time to accumulate instead of rejecting.

Maybe it's time to grab onto, instead of letting go.

Embrace.  Be filled.

Hair is a symbol.  Just ask Samson.

What does your hair mean to you?  What would it mean for you to remove it or lose it?  

Back to Butterfly.

In less than two weeks, I'll be performing in Butterfly in New York City.  Off-Broadway.

My head is spinning.

I'm trying not to think about what I'm thinking about.  All of it needs to sink into black oblivion and I just need to focus on the moment.

It's not as easy as it should be.

I'll be shaving my head again next Tuesday.  It will be back to the world of "sir" and "oh, I thought you were a boy".

I don't know how I feel about it.

It was liberating.  It was an awesome journey...  but that journey is over and I'm new and different on the other side.

But on we press.  And I'm a pretty masochistic actor.

The show is new and different.  The director/writer has a vision of continuity and art and beauty and surprise that will absolutely take the audience for a ride.

I'm focusing on the project.  It's a job.  I'm trying not to let the nervousness of the people around me rub off on me.  I turn within myself.  I remain aloof.

I think about the afterward and the food and the drinks and the companionship with other witty, talented, creative, intelligent women who I admire and love.

I think about driving into the city.

I think about walking down the street in the haze of New York heat and getting the feeling for the first time of being a working New York actor.

It's funny.

I have several friends and acquaintances from college and high school who are equity actors.  Several who are "making it".  Several who have appeared in movies and commercials and on and off Broadway in numerous capacities.

I have students who are working actors in the Big Apple.

My life didn't go that way.

I got married.  I had children.  I chose to teach.

I wrapped myself in the safety of my degree and the expectations of my friends and family and my lack of self-confidence and the theory that someday things would be different.

Life throws you boomerangs and bowling balls and Frisbees and arrows and you do your best to catch and dodge and toss them back. 

I throw around my artistic interests and have serious difficulty just choosing one.  Focusing.  I lose interest.  I get interrupted.  I get lost in reading instead of writing.  I think about my family and then I think about what certain things would do to them.

I look at my art studio and feel pangs of guilt.

I look at this trip to New York and feel pangs of guilt.

I wallow in it sometimes.

I swim and dive and wrap myself in guilt like I wrapped myself in fear before.

I realize this now.

On Tuesday...as my hair falls pell mell into the bathtub I will imagine the guilt there with it.  Sitting and waiting for me to wash it down the drain.  And I will do it.  And I will climb into the van to New York City with a coat that is just me.

Hair Today...

So I've decided, pretty much definitely, that I'm giving up cutting my hair for Lent.

I know.  It's seems sort of trite, but I need a reason and the whole reason I'm thinking about growing my hair back at all has to do with God.

I know.  Weirdness.

But I really feel called to grow my hair back, at least for a season.  I don't need to know the reason, I just need to know it's something I'm supposed to do. 

I know it's not me - because I LOVE my hair this way and honestly would keep it this way forever - but something in me, a Little Voice, says - grow your hair out.  Just do it.  It's important.

Maybe it's just an act of obedience.

I'm okay with that.

I'll be growing the stuff during Lent and then I think I'll have a better idea of what's going on.  Is this really a God thing, or is this a whacko me thing?  Is this something necessary and important for a long season, or just a short one? 

And, right now, I'm thinking that the goal will be dreads.

I know.  Tons of you have already told me that dreads are a bad idea.  I've heard stinky.  I've heard racist.  I've heard gross.  I've heard I'll never be able to take them out - but c'mon, I already shaved my head once - if I don't like them, I'll just do it again! 

And stinky - really?  All the dreadies I know WASH their dreads.

And racist?  I've heard that white people shouldn't have dreads. 

I find this supremely interesting.   People of all cultures and races have sported dreads.  Maybe it's just where we live, but I know tons of people, white people, in the U.S. who have dreads for a myriad or reasons, not to mention all of my Celtic ancestors, who are documented as having dreads pretty much since the dawn of time.  I don't want to offend anyone with my hair choices.  I've done enough of that, but I think this particular grievance is really unfounded.  Maybe some feel that white people look dumb with dreads.  I'm okay with that notion.  People think people look dumb on a regular basis and across the board.  I don't really care if you think I look dumb.  But please don't think I'm stealing someone's culture - I'm actually looking back at my own.

I've heard a lot about dreads.  Done a ton of research on dreads.  And when it comes right down to it I think this might be one of those things I just have to do.  Have to try.  It's not just about my Celtic roots, which are important to me, especially since my excursion to Ireland in 2001, it's also about exploring this other side of myself that I'm just beginning to unearth. 

Hair communicates a lot for me.

I think it does for all women. 

There are things that I simply love when it comes to hair.

My shaved head.  I think it can be really elegant on a woman.

Long naturally gray hair.  I don't think there is anything much more beautiful when it comes to hair.

Long dreads.  They make such a personal statement.  I love how they look on both women and men of all races.

Hair with purple streaks.  This has been a fascination for me since high school.

What does your hair say about you?

Princess.

Yesterday my daughter dressed up as a princess.

She was truly beautiful, even glamorous in her sparkly new dress (from a bag of hand-me-downs from a friend) that was a little too big and falling off of her shoulders as she ran up and down the hall and twirled with delight.  She is two years old, and she knows what beautiful means.  She knows what it means to wish for the people around her to delight in her, to see her, to know that she is important and special, and yes...lovely.

It's not something that goes away when we grow up.  It's why we wear make-up and get our hair done and lavish over the prom dresses in the store even when we are far too old to go to prom.  It's why we get in a tizzy over the First Lady's inaugural ball dress and the wedding dresses of the stars.  We can live a little bit vicariously through them as we watch them walk down the red carpet or twirl across the dance floor with their husbands. 

I've been thinking a lot about beauty these past couple days because of my daughter and also because of the song that my husband wrote about me and about this blog.  I've been thinking about what it means to feel beautiful and to be beautiful and what it means for me, personally.

I've also been tossing around that whole, maybe I should grow my hair back, thing. 

It's funny - one day I'm certain it's what I should do and the next day I can't imagine having to take a brush to my hair or use conditioner or worry about rolling the windows down in the car.  It's a waffling decision at best daily. 

Reading the lyrics to my husband's song I almost cried - he talks about how he thinks I'm beautiful with the hair like this and just knowing he would think I was beautiful no matter what I did is a pretty great feeling. 

I wish that for all of you out there who are pretty sure that marriage is where you're headed.  If he wouldn't think you were pretty anymore after you shaved your head you might want to re-think that situation.

This is where a lot of people will say that we should want to please our husbands and be beautiful and whatnot for them.  I get that.  I think it's great to dress up for the husband - guys are visual creatures - that's why women are prettier than men (if you don't believe it, check out visual art for the past six hundred years), but I don't think you should have to be perfect all the time for the guy to love you.  The right guy is going to love you in your sweatpants.  Will he appreciate the little black dress?  Duh.  But he'll still find those sweatpants kinda cute. 

Hair.

Today I was in the car and I was thinking again about growing my hair back.

I think the thing is, I've learned what I need to learn from shaving my head.

One of those things is that I really think every woman should try it once in her life, just to see what happens.  I know not everyone will - in fact, it will be a rare chick who buzz cuts her hair - but I do recommend it.  I have done a lot of growing.

I think the biggest thing that I've learned has been about who I am and what that means.  I've stopped caring so much about what people think of me.

Before, I could give lip service to it, but now I really GET it.  When someone asks me if I'm a boy (usually a child), I'm no longer offended, I just smile and tell them that I'm a girl, and give them a short list of other ways to tell the gender of a person.  I also explain that I just like the short haircut.  That satisfies every kid I've run up against thus far.

When I get stares from adults, I've learned to just smile back at them.  Either they smile too, or they look away - angry or ashamed.  The thing is, I can probably guess what they're thinking, and none of it is about me personally - they don't know me.  They might never know me beyond an initial thought or judgment, and some people are just looking because it's different and interesting - those are the people who usually smile back.

I've had a lot of interesting comments.  Many of them were that other women were "jealous" of my hair because it's so low maintenance and I don't have to worry about it.  To those women, I say - if you really want to do it, DO IT!  Hair grows back - I promise!  And very quickly too for most of us!

Others were underhanded sort of judgment:  "when will you grow it back?"

I honestly thought that I would never grow my hair back until it went grey, but I think there are other things in store for the hair.

Not sure if I'll be letting it grow out now or shaving it once more or a few more times.  I have no idea what I'll do with it after or even if I'll definitely change it, but I think the growing I had to do with this hair might be just about through.

The biggest lesson has been to live in the moment.  Before, hair held me back.  Go ahead and laugh, but then think about the times you wished you could dance in the rain or jump in the lake or take a shower just before a big event - you thought about your hair.  It annoyed you when it was in your face.  You didn't want to mess it up.  You forgot a hair tie.  Whatever.  Either way, I personally didn't do a lot of things because my hair was in the way.  Now I know that it's dumb.  Forget the hair, LIVE LIFE.  You can brush it later.  And if it's too messed up - well then you can just shave it off.  I don't have to worry about what it would look like anymore, and when I have a bad hair day, I just might do it.

So...in light of all of that - if and when I grow my hair back, it won't be because I'm being stared at or ridiculed or because someone else wants me to do it.

It will be because I want it long.  Or pixie.  Or bob.  Or purple.  Or whatever.  Not to please the people around me, but to just be myself.

And finally (this is my third edit on this blog), I have to say, that shaving my head was a huge symbol for me.  I got to physically purge myself of my past in a very tangible way.  In the Old Testament, shaving one's head was a symbol of mourning.  I shaved off that junk from before and I let myself mourn for it, grieve about it, and get over it.  All the pain and stupidity and pleasing others and dirt that I harbored from things people said to me or did to me - hanging onto people and things that are really unimportant, who no longer care about me, or who have moved on so far in their lives that our past together is moot.  That symbolically ended up on the kitchen floor and then several times in the bathtub.  I feel cleansed from all that now.  It's just... gone.

People rip on Britney Spears and others who have shaved their heads, but before you jump to conclusions about them being insane or whatever, know that it really does have an effect on you to get rid of your hair in such a well...violent manner.  It's a CLEAN slate.  A new beginning.  The actualization of a new self. 

Well...  I've written enough disjointed ramblings for now. 

<3

Veiled.

Today while I was running on the treadmill at the drill hall where my husband works, I got to thinking about a lot of things.

This probably has something to do with the fact that I read Romans yesterday in its entirety and actually got something out of it for maybe the first time ever (never understood what the big deal was about that book before) and also with the fact that I was running on the treadmill, which is decidedly boring, and the boredom was intensified because the guy next to me turned on Versus Bass Pro Fishing, so there was truly nothing but my mind and God to while away the time.

It got me thinking about a bunch of things - running on the treadmill, thinking about Paul's letters to the Early Church, trying to open my mind to anything old thing God wanted to say to me...  maybe this is all God talking - maybe not, I'll hash it out here and we'll figure it out together.

I got to thinking about my hair.

I actually might need to grow it out again.  Not because I want to - because I don't - at all.  My personal plan for my hair is to keep it just this short until it's mostly grey, and then grow it out long - because grey hair is gorgeous, in my humble opinion, and I want to take full advantage of something I consider to be a gift of age.  The reason is because I think God might want me to.

I'm not taking this as definitely God's Word right now, because well - mostly because I'm hoping it isn't - but I think there might be something in there.  I don't think it means that I won't cut it this short again, but I do think it means something about obedience, and not always having to know "why".  This is hard for me - so I'm thinking I'll shave it one more time and see what happens.  Maybe this is great foolishness, not sure about that, so pray for me that I'll get a clearer message, I suppose.

Regardless - of course after I heard God hint at the hair thing I got to thinking about why in the world that would be, and I remembered about how hair is sort of like a veil.  And then I got to thinking about Reading Lolita in Tehran and how the veil was this hot button issue in Iran and still is - how it's the law - you HAVE to wear it, and they say it's for the protection of their women.

The feminist in me rears up and snarls at the idea that hiding a woman's beauty would be for her own good - but you have to hand it to them - it probably would make for less victims.  Yet the truth of the matter remains - the veil thing shouldn't have to exist for the protection of women.  It shouldn't be necessary to protect them because people should be jerks and control freak psychos and go around raping people or harassing them otherwise.  That's something that needs to simply go away.  (I know this is unrealistic, but a girl can dream, alright?)

In spite of the whole protection thing I am starting to see the real beauty of the veil - the whole idea of the veil in it's most pure form.

There was a veil to hide God in the Tabernacle.  In the Holy of Holies in the Temple, there was a veil.  A great curtain to separate the people from the Lord because he IS simply too awesome to behold - and I use the term "awesome" deliberately in this case.  The veil was a symbol of purity and holiness.  It says something about a woman when she has a veil.

It's no mistake that exotic women in old movies often had veils.  That Jeannie had one on I Dream of...  Something about that hiddenness makes a woman more attractive.  You just KNOW that under that veil there is something beyond your imagination in beauty.  And maybe this is the thing about hair.

Maybe women wear their hair because it is a little bit of innocence that we can hold onto.  Maybe the hair is something that shows there is something deeper - below the surface.

I think about the veil and I think about how our bodies are temples for the Holy Spirit and I wonder if maybe having long hair is something of a symbol about that.  Keeping our body in shape, long hair - I don't know.

Just something I've been pondering a lot today.  Thought maybe you'd like to join me and we could ponder together.

Wit. Chapter Three.

Tomorrow is press night.  I'm actually pretty stoked.  I think the show is coming together nicely.  And this is coming from a very superstitious theatre person who would normally not say positive things about a show before opening - or at least not quite THIS positive, but I honestly think I have had my fair share of stress thus far this time.

I have also had a very hard time "letting go and letting God."  I know that all my shows pretty much suck unless I allow God to just take over.  I know this, and yet I always still attempt to control everything myself and then end up having a complete panic attack...  okay... several complete panic attacks. 

But...  God is in control.  I will continue to repeat that until I believe it.  Not sure if there is any other way....

Aside from all of this, I am having a very hard time with some of the people on my production staff when it comes to authority.  All of them men.

I am not one of those feminists who hates men.  In fact, I like them a lot.  For much of my life, I preferred their company to that of other women.  For much of my life, I actually thought that women were very annoying and petty and completely uninteresting.  I remember going to this sleepover during this period where I thought that being popular was really important (this will be the subject of another blog, I am certain) and so I decided that I would concentrate on making myself popular, and after I succeeded, and went to a sleepover with the popular girls, I realized that it was perhaps the most boring and horrible decision of my life.  I couldn't believe that they actually talked about the things they were talking about.  It was like a poorly written teenie bopper film.  They literally spent the night talking about make-up and shopping and really stupid boys.  I eventually went upstairs and hung out with the girl's older brother and his friend. 

So, in light of all of that, I have never been one who really felt like I was all oppressed and disrespected by men.  There have been times when I've been upset or felt like I was treated as less than, but never so much as the times during this show.

I'm not going to name names because this is a very public blog, but it's really hard for me to deal with, to be honest.  I have trouble asserting myself when the need to do so comes out of nowhere.

I wish that I could be one of those women who is always prepared for exactly that sort of thing and had an arsenal of stuff to throw back at questionings of ability and insults to your intellect, but alas, I am not, so I've just walked around dismayed.

It would be different if it were about something I thought I sucked at.  I would pretty much just take whatever was dished out to me and agree with them sadly.  But when they question my vision for a show I'm directing, I really just want to punch them in the teeth.  And when they question my knowledge about how to run a rehearsal, I really just want to stab them with a hard, but blunt object.  Like a screwdriver.

Perhaps it isn't became I'm female, but moreso because this is my first time directing in the space.  Not sure.  I will say that I have had no trouble of this nature from the women involved.  Maybe it's because my head is shaved and so I fall into that category where I might be able to be viewed as a man.  I've been thinking about this a lot, especially today when a guy at Walmart who was putting away shopping carts asked Michael and me if we were out Mother's Day shopping for our wives.  I stared blankly and hoped he would figure out that I was, in fact female.

Granted, I was wearing my Dublin soccer jacket, which I admit I bought in the men's section, but I was also wearing my yoga pants and black Nike running shoes with a pink swoosh.

It was one of those times I really wished I had bigger boobs.

Hair Cuts.

Every time I get my hair cut I think a lot about why I'm doing this.

The reasons sort of change as I change.

My husband cuts my hair for me. I can't see the back - it's really quite a pain to do yourself. I sit in the bathtub in my underwear while he shaves my head. Hair falls all around me. Covers my arms and legs and feet. I sit there and think and stare at my knees.

I have grown very much accustomed to the shaved head look. I've grown accustomed to the stares and find them much less offensive and much more humorous now. Most people who know me feel like this look fits me better than the hair I had before.

Plus it's fuzzy when you touch it :-)

I have been thinking a little since reading a new blog about growing out my hair into dreads. My friend Elizabeth explicitly told me when she sent me the link to the blog that I should NOT grow my hair into dreads... I guess she figured I'd go there...

I know that hair maintenance isn't really for me. Before shaving my head I couldn't find a style I liked. I wasn't very good at fixing my hair. I just found it to be in the way most of the time.

With the head shaving all of that is gone, but I do have to cut my hair every 2 - 3 weeks to keep it this way. THAT part of the maintenance has increased by a LOT. With long hair with long layers and grown out bangs, I didn't have to get my hair cut very often at all. I really despise salons. I hate having to make conversation with a stylist I don't know at all. I'd rather just sit there and be quiet. I know they are supposed to make conversation, but I'm SO bad at small talk. I'm always just embarrassed and can't wait to go home - not to mention the expense of a visit. So...I avoid it. Always have.

With dreads - I feel like the cutting could be avoided along with the styling and whatnot.

Another friend of mine said that dreads are really high maintenance. She probably knows. She's had everything in her hair from the shaved head thing to a mo-hawk and everything in between and all around on all sides of the gender spectrum. Maybe I should sit down and chat with her a bit about it.

I'm also not sure how I'd look with dreads. Yes. I care about how I look. I can't help it. It's inborn. Even if other people think I look like a freak I at least want to feel like what I'm looking at in the mirror reflects who I am in my head. I really LIKE how I look with no hair. Dreads might be a whole new world of interesting...

progress.

We spent a lot of time this weekend with my husband's parents. They are super good people and I enjoy them very much - however differently Michael and I were raised, we agree that both sets of parents are good people.

I told my mother-in-law about my blogs and she was especially interested in this one, wondering what it was about. I explained that it sort of started as a commentary on my haircut and how that was affecting my life - aside from the fact that I felt I had a lot to share on the subject of femininity and adolescent development etc etc. She was really curious as to how it might be affecting me.

When I explained the people treated me differently since the hair cut she was sort of confused. Why in the world would anyone treat me differently?

I didn't get to talk to her much about it, but I did want to say a few things I've noticed in the past few months.

People here, in my area, don't treat me as differently anymore.

I think that, at least in the places I frequent, most people have seen me around, and it's not so surprising. I thought for awhile that I was just more used to people staring blatantly, but I've realized that that's not really the case, since when we went on vacation to Niagara Falls I had several people staring (not in Canada, mind you, but in Northern PA and upstate New York). I even had a girl stare at me for the entire duration of our trip to McDonalds in New York City - and you'd think that would be a place where people had seen everything...

Apparently this is just that strange.

What's really weird is that it's sort of trendy in Hollywood, or at least it's had stints of trendiness in the recent past. Heck, even Britney shaved her head - granted people all decided that she was a complete nut job at that point... so maybe that says something about our American culture...

Either way, the point is, there has been some progress.

There are still stares in one key place: the pediatrician's office.

I think that parents are so afraid that their children will grow up to be weird, or gay, or trans, or anything out of the ordinary - they absolutely don't want them to be exposed to this out of the ordinary person in a place that ought to be "safe" from such people.

That place aside, there has been actual progress. People don't stare anymore. People don't giggle behind my back. People don't make comments. The clerks don't avoid eye contact at the store. It's really... nice.

Maybe there is hope for humanity. Maybe people can actually change, accept something new, add it to their paradigm or shift their paradigm and learn. I hope that's the case and I'm not just oblivious.

And I hope that eventually, if I can be strong enough and keep this thing up, maybe the parents at the doctor's office will embrace the whole thing. Hey, my kid can be different and that's OKAY. I can still love them if they shave their head or get a tattoo or decide to be an actor... That whole unconditional thing? Yeah, this would be where it applies.

Benji

I went to pick up Jonah at school the other day for a dental appointment. He was eating lunch at a table with his friend, Benji.

Benji is awesome.

He was eating a sandwich.

"Hey, Jonah, is that your dad?"

Jonah looked at me, did not respond.

"No, Benji, I'm Jonah's mom, I just have really short hair."

Benji checked me out for a minute, nodded, and said, with a smile,

"Okay. Well, Jonah's Mom, do you like the color red?"

I nodded.

"Yes, Benji. Red is a great color."

Society's Visegrip

Yesterday my son drew me the cutest picture.

It was a stick person (he's 4, he'll be five in three weeks or so) with a heart next to it, and he said, "This picture is for you - this is me, and this is my heart. It's for you, Mommy." How sweet is that?

I thought it was adorable. He did one for my husband as well, and then one for my daughter, his sister. He then asked if I would write one for him, so I did.

I drew a stick figure to match his, but I made this one me. I gave it sort of spiky hair on top of its head because that's the best way I know how to make someone have my hair cut in the stick figure world, then I gave her eyes, nose, mouth, and drew my heart at the top corner of the index card (for this was our canvas of choice). The drawing looked...well..masculine. So I added some long eyelashes and felt quite satisfied that this figure, while without clothing or long hair, was decidedly female.

My son took a look at it, and instead of being happy with it, he asked if I would please draw myself with long hair so that he "would know [I was] a girl."

"But, Jonah, you know Mommy is a girl."

"Sometimes I think you're a boy because you have a boy haircut."

"But I'm not one, right?"

"No. But could you just draw it that way?"

"Look, Jonah, do you see how I made the eyelashes on the girl and there are no eyelashes on the picture of you?"

"Uh huh."

"That's another way to show it's a girl in the picture."

"Mommy?"

"Uh huh?"

"Could you still draw long hair on it, please?"


I did as he asked. He told me he remembered when I had long hair and he wished I would have long hair again.

I wonder if some kid said something about me or called me a boy or something in front of him. I wonder if he really feels embarrassed by me.

I know one thing.

After much inner debate I decided to leave my hair just the way it is (though I do need a haircut right about now, and badly at that, and I will be shaving it again hopefully this evening).

If someone is going to teach my son about stereotypes and how they are an issue then it's going to be his family.

Gender is a hugely hot topic right now in the world. People questioning everything. Beauty. Homosexuality. Transgender. Everything sexual. Everything gender oriented.

A girl recently ran a super fast 800 meter dash and now her gender is up for questioning because she was so much faster and her build is somewhat "masculine".

What does it all mean?

There's something important in all of this.

There's a reason for my shaved head and a reason I feel the need to keep it that way.

I'm having trouble putting it into words, but I feel if I cave to this stereotype - that girls must have long hair to be feminine, then I've lost something important. Something about being who you are. This is me.

Defining Normal.

Today I am sad.

I saw a picture of me and I didn't think I was pretty.

I know this happens to tons of women all the time but normally I've been called photogenic. I've been excited about photographs of myself. I saw these two pictures taken at the Easter Vigil at my church and thought - I look like a boy.

One was from the back.

I was wearing a black athletic zipper hoodie with an Easter Bunny pin. I just don't look like a girl.

The problem is that I don't really want to grow my hair back. I think it looks better this way. When I look in the mirror, I can't imagine having long hair again, or even girlier short hair.

I feel hypocritical looking at a picture of myself and seeing what I see. I want girls and women everywhere to read this blog and come to an understanding that beauty is more than skin deep. Beauty is internal. That every woman exudes beauty simply because of her femaleness. But when I look at a picture of myself and don't see something feminine, it's hard.

I've got a relatively flat chest.

In middle school and early high school I had two nicknames, given by the boys in my class: "the board" and "miracle gro". The first because I was as flat as one. The second because I needed some.

The cruelty of those words, those years, has still never left me. I still look in the mirror and see something lacking. Part of being a woman is breasts. It's how we've been taught. It's how we've been programmed. This is why a mastectomy is a tragedy. This is why the girls with A cups are depressed on the Tyra Show.

I also feel that boys are programmed to believe this as well. That they are supposed to like big boobs. Supposed to associate breasts, especially large ones, with femaleness. We see them on posters, we see them on calendars, in pornography, on Victoria's Secret commercials playing during our regularly scheduled programs. We can't get away from the sexualized imagery that describes what a woman must look like in order to be acceptable, attractive, desirable, and lovely. It hurts me to see it. It hurts me to see high school girls in low cut tops with push up bras desperate for a boy to notice them. But not really them...to notice THEM, and then, maybe to give their face the occassional cursory glance up.

I'm tired of this objectification of women. I'm tired of objectification in general. It's not just women who suffer this.

The other day my husband was standing in the bathroom pinching at the skin around his abdomen and saying how it was hard for him to get abdominal muscles: to develop a six pack. Why do we value this? Because when we see an "attractive" man in the media, he has these things. It's "what women want". Why do we want it? Because back when we were tiny little girls someone told us that this was what beauty meant. That THIS was desirable in a man. He can beat the shit out of you as long as he has good abs.

Society is a blackened pit of despair.

When I was sixteen I was a lifeguard and counselor at a girl scout camp. Girl Scouting is a fantastic organization. I learned a lot and I think it's good for girls to have time with just girls.

I was counseling a group of fourth graders who were exploring the campsite and playing with frogs. Then one girl saw a mouse. The others ran with her to chase it. Eventually, the nine year old girls caught the mouse in their hands and came to us counselors to show us their prize.

My fellow leader said, "Aren't you afraid of mice?"

The girls laughed and said, "We just pretend we are when boys are around. We scream and stuff. They need to think we need them."

following the social experiment

I wanted to give a bit of an update on the shaved head thing.

For those of you who don't know, I shaved my head a few weeks ago.

I love it. It's incredibly convenient, I think it brings out my facial features and forces people to look at the ME behind the "style", and it's fun. I don't have to think about things before I do them - like putting on a pullover or jumping in a pond - I can just DO and not worry so much about whether or not I'll mess up my hair.

Before this, I didn't realize how much I was concerned about messing up my hair. Now I realize when I put on a hoodie I would have to think about it, go slowly, be careful not to mess up my do. Now I just throw it on and go. No more worries about ruining a look. The look is pretty much permanent. I am hoping that having so little hair will really help me to do more things without worrying so much about how I look doing them. It's important. If I want to slide through mud puddles with my kids in the rain, I should do it. No hair in my face. No worrying about getting my hair muddy. And clothes? Well, that's why God made washing machines.

Anyway, the social part of the experiment is proving interesting. The most common comment I receive is: "Oh, I love your hair! How long are you keeping it that way?"

Strange. No matter how my hair has been cut in the past, no one has asked me how long I plan to keep it that way. When I respond with - "Well, I really like it, it'll probably be this way for awhile." they are sort of... shocked and awed. Sometimes not in such a positive way. Okay...mostly not in a positive way.

I'm not really sure what they're thinking when they ask how long I'll keep it that way, or if they mean it when they say they love the hair. Most people honestly seem genuine when they say they like it. I guess they just expect that it was a whim or I went slightly insane for awhile and the DO like it, but they expect I'll go back to the norm soon.

The thing is, I'm not very interested in the norm.

I've officially gotten over the strange looks I get in the grocery store and around the town. I am a little weired out by the small children who point and stare when I go into the women's restroom. I wonder if they think I'm a guy or if they are just taking in something they haven't seen before and trying to connect those neurons in their brains. Either way, I think, even though I feel self conscious about it, it's good for them to see something non-traditional. Personally, I want to expose my kid to as many different kinds of people as possible. God made some pretty interesting things, some pretty beautiful things. All different colors, shapes, and sizes. I wish more people would look at the beauty all around them and classify it as such, rather than classifying things they don't see everyday as strange.

the good with the bad.

Tonight I talked to this woman at church before the cantata, in which my husband and I are singing, about my hair.

It's interesting to watch people react to my hair.

I'm really trying to practice what I preach and get over what people think of me, but it's tough when people are staring at you in the store, and just randomly at church and other places.

I took my daughter to the doctor the other day and a little girl, I would put her at about age six, leaned over and whispered (like kids do): "Why is that lady's hair so short?" Her mom looked at her very seriously and said, quietly, but still unintentionally loudly enough for me to hear, "That lady is very sick, and she can't have long hair."

I wasn't sure what to do in that moment. Correct the woman? Lean over and tell her daughter, "Hey, I'm not sick, I cut my hair this way because I WANTED to" ? I'm not sure. My response was to sit there quietly and smile to myself. I admit it made me a little upset. I guess it's just stereotypes in general upset me to no end.

I'm not claiming I'm above them, because I'm sure I think of them from time to time and apply them to people I don't know without even thinking, but this one is hitting me right in the chest. I don't have cancer. Never did. I hope that I never will. But either way, can't a girl cut her hair the way she wants to and not be sick? Who knows.

Anyway, back to my conversation at the cantata.

The woman actually had cancer, I think two years ago, and lost all of her hair. She hasn't really talked to me before, but having the haircut has been a conversation starter for us. She asked me why I cut it and I told her, and then she told me that she really liked her hair when it was that way, so I asked her why she grew it out again. She said that she wanted to grow her hair for Locks for Love, the organization that takes hair donations of ten inches or longer to make wigs for people who can't grow hair due to radiation treatments. I nodded because I understood. She said, "I can't fix them, but I can grow my hair, that's my way to help."

I recently donated ten inches of my own hair to Locks for Love. I just got a postcard in the mail from them thanking me for my donation.

It was a really nice card - personalized and everything. I wish that I could somehow meet the girl who gets my hair.

It sort of sounds a little weird and creepy, but I think it would be so cool to know exactly where it went, you know?

I thought it was really neat that the woman from church was growing her hair for Locks for Love, and I told her so, and after the cantata we talked again. She said she was really tempted to just shave all of her hair off when she looked at me because she remembered how easy it was to care for and how freeing it was to not worry about it. She said, "That's what cancer does, it strips you of everything - how you look, all you have is what's inside, and you can be bitter about that, or you can refine the inside to be something worth looking at." She also said she loved having her hair short because people looked at her face and eyes - she felt like people saw HER, and not just the effort she put into herself in the morning.

I said, "So, something good came out of the bad thing."

She said, "There are no bad things, just learning experiences."

This is a woman who had cancer. A woman whose brother committed suicide at the age of twenty-four. I think her outlook on life is pretty amazing.

Oh, and I'm pretty much selling the hairstyle to everyone who asks now. They ask why and I tell them my son told me I looked like Grandma with the hair cut I got, and so after spending twenty minutes or so sitting in our walk-in closet, I came out and told my husband to "just shave it off." Which is basically true. I'd really been wanting to do it for years, but never had the guts. I always had some excuse - "oh, I'll get fired" (I was a teacher in the public school system) or "Oh, I have a show I'm auditioning for and don't want to look weird," or whatever. But now I had an excuse TO do it, and no one to stop me, no reason not to do it. So there it is.

After I tell the story then I tell them it's amazing, low maintenance, and every woman should try it at least once in her life.

I think, eventually, I'll have some takers.