THE PEROXIDE HAIR

It was the summer after the seventh grade and I was getting ready to go to the new Alexandria Junior High school. I was not happy. Becky, my sister, seventeen months older than me, went directly from the seventh grade to Bolton High School in the eighth. I would have to wait another year before I could go. I had looked forward to being in high school but now the new school was fouling up my plans. This was the summer that Becky started planning my life so I wouldn't embarrass her in front of her friends.

The whole summer seemed to be a totally messed up summer. My voice was changing, I had gotten a flat top that I hated and daddy decided I was old enough now to take on more responsibilities around the farm. I would rather day dream of being a trapeze artist or a bull rider. I would prefer going to the country club and swim in the pool all day or even better, spend hours watching our three year old television. I had discovered old movies. I was used to chores around the farm before but now I was a hired hand.

Daddy had me working from sunrise to sunset most days on the farm...granted, I still loved horses and didn't really mind being outdoors around my Trixie, but I did NOT like working in the fields all summer, baling hay or hoeing weeds in the corn field or picking cotton. It was hot, back breaking work with only a lunch break, at Tommy's Grocery Store, of honey buns, moon pies and R-ah C cola. While we worked, if I wasn't listening to Dave, who worked for us, or the occasional hired hands picked up from Samtown for day work, singing mournful and/or cheerful gospel songs then I spent most of my time day dreaming. I'd look at the huge cumulus nimbus clouds that gathered like gigantically soft pillows in the hot summer sun, dreaming of bouncing on them like a trampoline or falling backwards with my arms outstretched as if falling into a pool of refreshing water. If we were in the cotton field, I dreamed of the different things I could make with the open cotton bolls or how to make some floral arrangement with the cotton. When in the cornfield I thought of making corn shuck dolls. My daddy totally could not understand me. He came from blue collar people who were sharecroppers and worked with their hands. He had never been around artistic people much and for that manner, neither did I. I didn't quite understand my thoughts either. Mother did. She came from a long line of artistic people...artists and actors, musicians. I had not discovered that side of my family yet.

My weekends were free and were spent on my beautiful palomino, Trixie. I had trained her to rear up and spent hours riding. Sometimes I'd place her just under the garage roof and then climb and jump off that roof into the saddle, like Zorro. Or I would run up to her from the rear and leap into the saddle while pretending to chase the bad guys in black hats. Once or twice I would do a backward flip off the rear of Trixie. She was a gentle horse that put up with a lot. I often played cowboys and Indians by myself, because my brother was only eight and I was twelve, and he was too young to play with, nor was he interested, anyway. Becky spent all her time with her girl friends. Dear little Jane would have but she was only six. That was fine because I usually played best by myself anyway.

August was near its end and school would soon be starting. One Saturday, Becky decided that in order to keep me from embarrassing her, I needed a makeover. Mama and Daddy were both gone that day. We were alone. Well, Annabelle was somewhere around cleaning house but we, being free range children were left to our own entertainment. Becky pulled me aside, one of the few times she actually acted as if I existed, and said that several of her friends were going to peroxide their hair. It was the thing to do. “We should do ours too,” she said. I was reluctant but agreed, well, not really. Becky had a way of bossing me and I usually had no choice but to comply. “I'll get the supplies,” she ordered. “Meanwhile,” she continued, “you need to go wash your hair and put my conditioner on it. Just pat it dry with a towel. Don't use the hair dryer. It has to sit wet for thirty minutes. It works better that way. Go.” I did.

Becky gathered the peroxide and found some old towels. She got some cotton balls and a spray bottle. When I met her in the bathroom she said, “Now, I'm not quite sure how this works, but Marilyn said to use the spray bottle if we want to color our entire hair or to use the cotton balls if we want to do just a small part. She put streaks in hers. I'm going to do my entire hair like hers, but you with that flat top will look better just peroxiding the front. So I'll use the cotton balls on your hair. We're doing yours first.”

“Why am I going to be first?” I said. “Because, I'm doing it,” was her answer.

My hair was still wet so Becky had me sit on the tub while she carefully began peroxiding my hair. She took the cotton balls and wet the entire front. After that she made me go lie down on the grass in the full sun for thirty minutes. The hair began to change to an orange but Becky wasn't satisfied so she added more. By the time she finished I was showing a bright orange front on my flat top that I already didn't like. “Now, let's do yours,” I said. “I'm not doing mine now,” she said. “It's getting late. I'll do mine tomorrow.” We heard voices. “I better clean up,”she said. “Mama and Daddy are home.”

Mama hit the ceiling when she saw me. “Why?” was all she could say. “Becky did it,” I told her.

So I got in trouble for not standing up and saying no to Becky. I guess Becky got punished too for being bossy. At least I hoped she did.

The story doesn't end here. I was so mad at my sister for talking me into doing this that I took it out on our dear sweet, mostly black dog, Prissy. The first chance I got, I washed the dog and poured all the rest of the peroxide bottle and another bottle all over the dog covering her well. The next day after playing in the sun she began to change colors, strange, spotty colors...orange and not so orange. Horrible colors.

Yes, I got punished again for my temper. Then mama informed me that since I had a fresh haircut when the deed was done I was not allowed to cut it again until it all grew out.

So I started Junior High with a peroxide streak against my coal black hair and no one else in the entire school had done theirs. I was alone and ostracized. Way to go sister! I felt you ruined my life...but then, you didn't really....after all, it was Junior High. We all ruined each others lives during those years.

Ah, the good old days of summer.

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