French Braids

My earliest memories of my grandmother involve a lot of pain. Physical pain. Sitting at our discarded teak dining table in the basement while she french braided my hair. She showed no mercy. My face felt like it was being stretched to it's limit. Tears flowed freely. But the end result was more than worth it. Two perfect french braids on each side of my head. Flawless. And unlikely to come loose. Once done, I would keep them in for at least a couple of days because I loved them so much. And because I needed time to forget the pain to see the beauty.

Somehow along the way, as is the way with little girls, I figured out how to do these braids myself. It took a lot of practice. My arms felt like they might fall off, but I did it. I could never figure out how to do it other people, but I didn't have anyone on which to practice. Doll hair is not the same. My brother's hair wasn't long enough. Not that he would have allowed it. So I just kept braiding my own hair.

It's a delicate art. Separating the hair so that each side has the proper amount. Making sure that the hair is just wet enough, but not too much. The secret to good sturdy braids is either wet hair, or unclean hair. Myself, I go with wet. You have to comb or finger through each piece so that it lies smoothly in the braid. That's the annoying part. It's not hard, it just takes time and patience. I find that much in life can be approach the same way. Slow and steady wins the race. If you speed up, you may end up having to do it all again.

I wore my hair in braids for my very first role in a play, The Wizard of Oz. Sigh. No, I wasn't Dorothy. I read for the part, but I didn't have enough experience and lost out. I was a Farm Girl, Girl from Oz, and Rock Sitter Extraordinaire. Much of my preparation for the show was putting my hair in braids.

My hair was in braids the first time that the eventually-would-be-Mr-Earth gave me a compliment. We were sitting at dance rehearsal for Godspell, and I had worn my hair in braids to keep it off my face. He told me how he loved it when girls wore their hair in braids, but that his current girlfriend couldn't do it because her hair was too short. I wore my hair in braids for many, many rehearsals and somehow convinced the director that my hair NEEDED to be in braids because it was crucial to the character. I also wore them a lot during our courtship for reasons that will remain unspoken...

Now, as a mother, I still wear my hair in braids. Usually on hot, humid days when I know that no other hairstyle will hold up. It never ceases to amaze me the number of people who comment on my hair when I do. Random strangers. "Wow, did you do that yourself?" "Is that hard to do?" To me, they're not something amazing and unusual, but just a natural part of my person. They're never as perfect as I would like them to be. I always see the mistakes that I made. The stray hairs that didn't quite make it into the whole. The fact that I only did them because my hair would not cooperate otherwise.

What IS amazing about them, people don't see. The history. My first play. My love for my husband. And a tiny, fiery woman who was the only person I know who could make them perfect. Painfully perfect. Someday, I'll get there too.