As I looked at this picture of my mother, age ten, I was thinking about what to write. I love the photo, but I can’t just write about that. I love her smile, which is still the smile I see all the time. Then I noticed her hair. Parted down the middle. And that brought back memories.
When I was in 7th grade, we battled over my hair. She was of the opinion that parting my hair down the middle made me look like a hippie, so she didn’t let me. Only a side part or pulled back would do. So, I would go to school, go in the bathroom, and part my hair down the middle.
But then I forgot about picture day. Lo and behold, when my pictures came back, there I was, hippie girl. Mom was not pleased.
I had not seen this picture back then. Boy, if I had, what ammunition it would have been. I could have said, “Ah,HA! Look! If you wore your hair parted in the middle, so can I!” Like the way I said, “YOU got married at 18! “ I was 20, but not nearly as mature as she had been at 18. She was working at 14 because she had to. I was working at 16 because I was driving my parents crazy hanging around the house being lazy.
I do think I picked up some of her good habits. I’m pretty thrifty, I can cook well when I have to, and I sorta know how to shoot a gun. I hope that, years from now, if my kids see a picture of my ten year old self, they’ll do more than laugh.