Raising a Teen: Big Hairy Deal
by Karen Williams - Oviedo Voice - Aug. 12, 2004
My hair stylist looked at me with concern and perplexity. For once, it wasn’t over my “in your face” tresses.
“What do you mean, things disappear from your bathroom?” he queried as he snipped and trimmed.
I’d been explaining why it was futile for me to buy any of the salon’s hair care products, no matter how shiny, manageable, and Catherine Zeta-Jones-ish they would render my coiffure.
“It happens all the time,” I went on. “Maybe the Huns, Vandals, and Visigoths are raiding my house. Or it could have something to do with my teenage daughter, as the missing objects tend to turn up in her bathroom, backpack or, I hear-tell, school locker.”
The stylist, getting the gist of my situation, advised, “My mother used to have that problem with my sister. She solved it by getting two of everything—shampoo, conditioner, combs, brushes, etc. She gave one set to my sister, and everything worked out fine.”
“I tried that,” I clarified. “But as soon as my daughter lost all her supplies, which took approximately two days, mine began to vanish again. In a fit of desperation, I chained my favorite hairbrush to the metal structure that sits above the toilet and holds towels and baskets of cute soap covered with dust. It was a nice, long chain so I could freely use the hairbrush but it couldn’t be brush-napped. At least for awhile.”
“Oh no, what happened? Did she use wire cutters?” the stylist asked, stunned, scissors suspended in mid-air.
“Let’s just say I now have one less metal structure above my toilet and a lot fewer towels,” I lamented, realizing, though, that I didn’t really miss the dusty soap. “There’s also a strange switching process that occurs at my house. Recently I bought a sleek new hairdryer and gave my old one, with a Snoopy dogface painted on it and a plastic holder base resembling Snoopy’s body, to my daughter. She accepted it cheerfully, and I thought that was the end of the matter. Imagine my surprise when I went to use the new dryer but it was gone. Snoopy grinned at me from his usual spot by my bathroom sink, as if to say, ‘I’m back, Charlie Brown!’ Made me want to go find Lucy’s advice shop and pick her brain.”
“Does your daughter ever take the clothes out of your closet?” the stylist asked with growing empathy.
“No, I’m O.K. with that,” I said with relief. “She wouldn’t go near my closet even if I had Ricky Martin stashed in there. Told me the other day that all my stuff looks like it’s from the 60s and 70s—‘in a bad way.’ So my hot pants and Cher wig are safe for now.”
“Sounds like you need to be much more firm with her,” the man advised. He obviously had never parented a teen and clearly had been watching too much “Dr. Phil.”
“I tried that.”
“Well, what happened?” he asked.
“She sent me to my room.”
“Oh, my gosh! What an out-of-control and self-centered girl! Doesn’t she understand that life’s not about just take-take-take?” he asked, again proving he hadn’t parented a teen. “Does she ever give anything to others?”
I paused. Should I say it? After all, I was in a hair salon and there are certain words you just don’t utter, even in that bastion of free speech and spill-your-guts honesty. Words too awful even to appear in National Enquirer, The Sun, or a prime-time T.V. sit-com. What-the-heck, my new hairstyle was rendering me carefree and reckless.
“Once she gave the whole family head lice.”
It was like a Merrill Lynch T.V. commercial, when everyone suddenly becomes silent and turns to look at the person who just said, “Merrill Lynch.” The noisy salon became deathly still, and stylists and customers alike stared at me. Only it wasn’t with admiration and attentiveness as in the T.V. commercial. It was with something akin to horror.
“Oops, I mean, once she gave the whole family head lice,” I said, realizing my mistake and whispering this time.
It’s amazing how fast a stylist can finish a haircut, dust you off, take your check, and bid you adieu. All without even trying to sell any hair care products.
Chuckling, I walked to the car. Of course, I’d just been toying with the stylist. My daughter hadn’t REALLY ever given lice to anyone.
Or had she??? I was beginning to scratch my head over that one.
Copyright 2004, Karen Williams
