It was always better to have dad brush my hair after the bath. Mom had to do it every morning, so she was immune to my winces of pain at little tangles. She'd just grab on to my head and get it done. Dad, on the other hand, was usually still at work after bath time, so opportunities to have brushed hair without wailing like a banshee were rare. Dad would let me sit on the couch in summer, or down by the woodstove in winter. He'd set me on an overturned laundry basket and assess the situation. He'd pull his 10 cent comb out of his pocket and start with the bottom centimeter of a foot of hair.
"Whelp. When I was your age, my mother used to send us to the store with 2 silver dollars. We were to pick up milk and bread, and bring back the change. With 5 boys at home, you go through a lot of milk and bread..."
and he would comb my hair by centimeters as he told me the story of how he and his brother would throw the silver dollars into the snow and then race to find them. One time, they couldn't find the silver dollar, so they went back to where they'd thrown it and threw the other one in the same way, figuring that they could watch where it landed and find them both. (number of silver dollars found: 0 Number of excuses including robbers in striped 'jail' outfits: 1 Number of young Walker butts tanned with a switch: 2)
When all the tangles were out, he'd comb all my hair straight back from my forehead like a swimmer, pick me up from the basket and turn me around. I knew he was done when he'd whistle and say "Now *there's* my girl." and I'd whistle back with my teeth.
"Now you go see your mother for stylin'. I don't know nothin' about stylin'."
The same goes now for my neices, who will run baths at my mom and dads house without permission so that what is usually the worst hair brushing of the week will be done by my father. When dad combs my nephews' hair, he styles it just like his own.
I've been really homesick for my parents lately.
Posted by Sonya at November 20, 2003 03:33 PM