Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



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Saturday, September 22, 2012

Candy Fluff Beauty

Yes
No











Remember the 'fashion' dolls of the fifties?
The straight-standing, frozen featured, supposedly beautiful dolls?
That creative people crocheted or knitted clothes for.
Or sunk into cakes.
Those dolls.
Well, besides being known for arriving 'without wardrobe', they were also known for their pre-styled, fine, beautiful hair.
Hair that was not comb-able.
That stuck together in a tight ball and defied any efforts at style change.
I know that hair well.
Because I was born with the same stuff.
Fine.
Soft.
And matted permanently together.
Candy-fluff hair, my Mom called it.
Okay, 'candy fluff', I loved.
Candy fluff on my head?
Not so much.
Every morning, and several times throughout the day, Mom would come at me with a comb.
Or some other implement guaranteed to make my hair behave.
None of them worked.
All of them . . . hurt.
Mom: “Diane, hold still! I'm almost done!”
Me: “Waaah!”
And so it went.
As I grew, my hair . . . changed. Subtly.
Oh, it was still fine and soft.
But it no longer stuck together in one fuzzy lump.
No.
Now it stuck together in several fuzzy lumps all over my head.
Sigh.
Mom: “Diane, hold still! There's just one more!”
Me: “Waaah!”
Finally, by about age eight, I outgrew the 'fuzzies'.
But made another important discovery.
Yes, my hair no longer matted together, defying all attempts at style.
And it was now longer and straighter.
But . . . it still hurt to comb it.
Yes. I was a hair wuss.
Mom: “Diane, hold still! Your hair will look beautiful!”
Me: “Waaah!”
Finally, in frustration one day, she uttered the fateful words, “Diane, don't you know you have to suffer to be beautiful?”
I stared at her. “Really?”
She nodded sagely.
Wow.
I put it together.
If I suffered, I would be beautiful.
It was that simple.
This went on for several years.
Every day, I suffered.
Every day, I looked in the mirror.
Nope. Same face as yesterday.
Finally, at age fifteen, I challenged my mother's hypothesis.
Me: “Mom! I've suffered! Why aren't I beautiful!?”
Mom (In true 'Mom' form): “Oh, honey, you ARE beautiful!”
Right. Wait. Who made this rule?!
I see where this is going . . .
Moving ahead several years . . .
I was combing my granddaughter's fiery red, naturally curly hair.
ME: “Kyra, hold still! I'm almost done!”
Kyra: “Waaah!”
Me: “Don't you know you have to suffer to be beautiful?”
She stares at me. “Really?”
And so the story continues . . .

13 comments:

  1. Tricky, tricky. How did you get a red headed grandchild?!?!? I never did.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I remember Mom trying to comb your hair. And yes, you were not enjoying it. That doll at the top of the page. I remember those being sold at rummage sales. I think back in the 60s when every female's bathroom had one to hide the spare roll of bum fodder. A guy's bathroom merely had the spare roll on the vanity or on the toilet tank lid.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Yep...we tell each other those lies generation after generation...I've suffered let me tell you and I'm STILL not beautiful. I did have one of those dolls though. My gran made it a beautiful dress and hat and it sat in the middle of my bed as decoration.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. My sister had one, too! It always sat on her bed. Except when I pinched it. Hmm . . . another blog???

      Delete
  4. Isn't that precious!

    My kids all had short hair and my hair became so straight that even when I curl it it's straight.
    (sigh)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That's me . . . now. I guess all I suffered for was to end up with non-curly hair!

      Delete
  5. Haha, at least you didn't look 'perfect' like one of those dolls! Downunder, the crocheted skirt was often used to hide a spare toilet roll in the smallest room in the house!!!!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ugh, Perfection!
      My brother was just He says it was never found in guy bathroom. Pity . . .

      Delete
  6. The things we say to our children when we want them to do something, lol. We become very inventive as parents:)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yep. Mom had me convinced that . . . someday . . . I would be beautiful! If I just suffered enough . . .

      Delete
  7. You suffered for nothing. Perfection cannot be improved upon.

    Anonymous Husby-type Secret Admirer

    ReplyDelete

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