Wednesday, February 25, 2009

perm rod wishes and texture shear dreams

This was written in October, but I never published it. I wanted to flesh it out a bit more. I was very rushed when I wrote it, so eh...  But because I am on my last week and a half of school I felt it was kinda appropriate right now:
So I've switched to day classes this week. It's been adjustment.
I enjoy my new instructor, Olivia. Not in the way I enjoyed my night instructor, Jamie, but its enjoyment nonetheless.
Olivia is very positive, she tries to live The Secret and bring it into her classroom, so this morning we all watched the video of The Secret and it has guided our discussion so far today.
Olivia asked us each how we got here, what steps were taken in our lives to bring us to this day: almost finished with this class at this school.
After a few people commented on how this was just a stepping stone to make money while they worked toward their other interests, be it photography, travel, or medical school.
I hesitated raising my hand; I'm not really one to volunteer to talk in a group of strangers. I told my story, how I got here. I had never really told the whole thing to anyone before, and because I am totally my fathers daughter, I started crying mid-story.
So for entertainment, general information, posterity, or just because its fresh in my I got here:
When I was little (3, 4, 5-years-old) I would play School or Cooking Show with Deborah (who has since gone on to be an English teacher with a penchant for food) and then I'd sit her down and play Sister Andrews.
There were basically three women (outside of relatives) that I interacted with in my Little Kid years: Eileen, Barbara, and Sister Andrews. I just knew that I had MY friends, and these were my Momma's friends.
Eileen is the mother of my besty, Sarah. They were my next door neighbors until I was about 8, and she always tells me she was the very first person outside of family to hold me when I was born. She calls me her Other Daughter. (Other than her 4, haha.)
Barbara is the mother of Jared, who was my best friend until we were about 9-years-old and he realized it wasn't cool to have a female best friend. Oh, and I moved (about a mile away.)
Sister Andrews was the nice lady with the little salon off her house. The place where I got to sit on the pink booster seat placed in the middle of the chair, until that day I was big enough to sit on the padded white board that was laid across the arms of the chair.
When I went to Sister Andrews' house I got my hair trimmed then I got to play on the trampoline in the backyard while Deborah got her hair trimmed. I loved playing in that backyard, but really hated that I had to play alone while my sister was inside.
I loved when Sister Andrews cut my hair. I loved having the cape around my little neck, I loved when she'd twirl my hair and clip it out of the way, I loved when she moved my head into position. I emulated the moves on Deborah. I twisted her hair and clipped it, I doused her with water and carefully used my fingers as shears, guilding along her hairline.
I learned to braid in first grade. (oooh, I rhymed.)
While sitting on the Magic Carpet for Story Time I started playing with Amy's hair. I really loved the way braids look...the intricately woven bands of hair. Uh! Beautiful! (ok, I still love it.) I took pieces of Amy's hair and tried to recreate the braids I'd seen Elizabeth and my mom create. They didn't turn out all that great, but it was a start. I went home and practiced on my Apricot doll (I got her for my first birthday, she smelled like apricots...which is a really weird fruit to scent a doll, but hey, it was 1985; a lot of weird things happened in 1985.)
I finally got a pretty rocking braid into that dolls hair.
Even with my interest in hair, I usually looked like an ugly boy when it came to MY hair, because I never took the time to do it in the morning. I rocked bedhead before bedhead was cool.
But during that weird time of day between dinner and sleep I would practice. I distinctly remember locking myself in the downstairs bathroom in our old house, and curling each hair on my head into a tight ringlet. I had to be 6...maybe 7.
I wrapped my hair (in really wonky formations) with pink sponge rollers all the time, taking a little bit of pleasure in the pain of sleeping in them. Beauty is pain, right? I loved the curls the next morning...well, the ones that would result in curls...the ones that didn't fall out during the night (about half, hahaha.)
Sophomore year of high school we had a Career Day. Several professionals came to present about their career field in various classrooms. It was mandatory that we attend at least 3 classes. I chose photography, modeling (bwahaha), and cosmetology. The fluff classes, basically. I later found out I should have gone to the Army class, as the man there gave out free stuff (lanyards, keychains, pens, etc) to everyone in class and we all know I love me some free crap!
As I sat in the small, bright, classroom that usually held the Honors English snobs, I watched the tall blonde woman walk back and forth as she presented the benefits of the beauty industry. I immediately thought two things: 1) That was a horrible lipliner choice, ma'am. and 2) Holy crap! Dude, I SHOULD BE A HAIRDRESSER!
I took her pamphlets and her business card and headed down to my Orchestra class, newly determined.
I brought it up at dinner that night. "Hey, by the way, Mom, I went to a class about cosmetology today." And I was told, basically, 'thats a nice skill to have...but you're going to college.', actually, I'm not.
As usual it became Susannah not living up to her potential. My autobiography could be titled "She's Got Such Potential, If Only She'd Apply Herself"  My father wanted me to be a lawyer, not play with hair.
I kept bringing it up. I am hardheaded, stubborn...a brat. Anytime my going to college or what I'm doing after high school was mentioned I said I was going to be a cosmetologist. My mother said, and I FREAKING QUOTE: "Susannah, that is a waste of brain matter!"
Regardless, I had come to the decision and I wasn't going to waver. Although I have a myriad of interests, there was no one thing I wanted to go to college for.
During one of the last weeks of high school my friends and I spoke in church. At the end of our talks we were to say what our plans were. "I got into BYU and I'm going to study Elementary Education." bwahaha.
Then it was my turn... it could have gone so many ways. I have the Holy Overshare, Batman! disease. I could have told the entire congregation I didn't graduate high school and wasn't going to go to college. But I probably would have had to give back that Congratulations balloon I'd been given, and I wasn't about to do that, dang it!
I explained that after high school I was going to hair school, so I could be like Sister Andrews [who was in the ward.] (She teared up, I teared up. It was a moment.)
My parents still were in denial. (Bwahaha!) I repeated said I was going into cosmetology, they repeated told me thats a nice skill to have, but get a real degree. Sweet.
In 2006 my mother came to me with the idea that she would help me get into cosmetology school with the new knowledge that if I'm a student I could still be considered under her insurance.
So that is how I find myself here: As an awesome stylist with a bankable career. (how many can say THAT right out of school?)

1 comment:

Jerry said...

Susannah, I LOVED this post. It is very insightful and it is valuable. Congratulations on it. I am my daughter's father afterall. I found myself blinking several times to get through it. You have really accomplished something in your cosmetology certification. I am very proud of you.