Stories Behind the Hair

I'm anti-Valentine today.  And it's Lent.  I won't say what I decided to give up for 40 days, but it's not an easy thing to give up.  Couple these circumstances of no Valentine and what I gave up for Lent, and I start to get depressed.  So I've tried to distract myself.  Work is endless, and I can immerse myself into that right now, but I'll blog instead on something random - my hair!

I've been trying to decide if I should get my hair cut or not.  It's about that time when I donate it.  It certainly has lost some of its luster because of my age.  The funny thing though is that I hardly have any gray hair, but I'm sure I will end up coloring my hair within the next few years to start hiding the gray.

My hair has history and stories behind it.  I've donated my hair before.   It's hard to maintain as it gets longer.  At some point too, I always end up sweeping out of the way so that I can eat or brush my teeth or whatever.

Sometimes my hair attracts people to come and touch it against their own volition. I'm serious!

One of my New York City memories involves my hair.  I was walking to the subway station that was a few blocks from my apartment.  On my way there, two men were working on the sidewalk.  One exclaimed, "Oh my god!  Is your hair real?"  "Yes." I replied.  He then asked, "Can I touch it?"  I said, "Sure."  That's when I discovered that New Yorkers are really friendly.  He was in awe or in shock; I'm not sure.  I think he was more in shock because he could not believe that my hair was real.  He thanked me afterward, and I went on my merry way.  This was about a 30-second interaction.  I never saw them again thank goodness.

Another memorable time was when I was at JFK Airport, and I found myself involved in the JetBlue snafu that happened about 6 years ago.  This made headlines all over the world.  It was on or around Valentine's Day.  I was catching a flight to California for a board meeting or a wedding.  It was so cold that day, and JetBlue had trouble with flights.  There was a plane full of passengers on the Tarmac, but it could not take off because of ice.  The passengers were left on the plane waiting, with little food, water, warmth.  That did not go over well, and a new law resulted from that snafu.  The new law prohibits airlines from leaving passengers on the Tarmac for a certain length of time.   These passengers were there for hours.

Oh I was not on that plane.  I was at the gates waiting with many other passengers, and all these flights were delayed with no updates.  I remember at the gate, there weren't enough seats, and so many of us sat on the floor.  Someone started to stroke my hair, and I turned, a little startled but not panicked.  This woman smiled at me and said, "You have beautiful hair."  I said, "Thank you."  It wasn't her that was stroking my hair.  It was one of her young children.  That was a little strange, but it eased the tension of waiting.  They finally canceled the flights and rescheduled us.  I had to go back to Manhattan to sleep and catch the flight early the next day.  Going back to Manhattan didn't bother me because I was in a good mood.  Someone had complimented me for my hair.  I'm so easy.

Other times, I've been cursed at for the exceeding length of my hair.  "Yolanda, your hair is in your food!"

I was at San Jose Airport to catch a flight to somewhere.  I can't remember where to.  I was a little rattled when I went to the bathroom and had to drag my luggage with me.  So that meant I was traveling alone.  When I was in the bathroom stall, I heard a woman in the stall next to me.  It sounded like this woman was mumbling to herself.  When I reached for the toilet paper, she saw my movement because my hair was so long that she could see it almost touching the floor.  She actually thought that I was bending low on purpose, and that my hair almost touched the floor.  She screamed at me and said, "Stop looking in here."  I didn't realize she was talking to me.  Then she said it again.  I asked her if she was talking to me, and she said, "Yes."  I told her I wasn't peeking.  She said she could see my hair.  I got mad and I told her my hair was really long.  I asked her if she wanted to see it when we were out.  She then just murmured.  I was angry.

When I finished, she was still in the stall.  I walked out of the bathroom but decided to keep the bathroom within view so that I could see who walked out.  We were the only 2 in there.  When the woman walked out, I discovered she was an old, gray-haired lady with a slight stoop.  She was mumbling to herself.  I tried to get her attention by waving my hair.  But she was oblivious, not just to my hair, but also to everything else.  "Sigh."

My hair - should I cut it or not?  The reaction I get?  "Beautiful.  Love It!"

But I know that the moment I get it cut, I will miss it.  And I will miss the possibility that a complete stranger will stroke my hair against his/her own volition.