of permed bangs and a 200th post

when i was in fifth grade, i gave my very first political stump speech. the year was 1995, and bill clinton was up for re-election, running against bob dole. as we read our weekly reader, our teacher asked us who we would vote for and i found myself rising out of my seat to refute what a classmate had said about bill clinton being too young for the job and other things they were likely repeating from what they'd heard their parents' say at the dinner table.

that day, i stood my ground on the premise that we could in no way elect bob dole because, quite frankly, the man was too old, and to be sure, we didn't want to elect a president that would all too soon keel over from a heart attack, no?

the best part of the speech, in my opinion, was the enactment of said heart attack i then gave, collapsing into my chair, to much applause from my peers.

(the applause may have been in my mind, as i was quite an imaginative child.)

ponder, if you will, what a ten year old who will go to great lengths to speak out against old men for president will do when given the chance to dress and make decisions for herself?

if you guessed permed bangs, silk purple shirts, overalls and rose-tinted round glasses...

...sadly, you were right.

from a very young age, my mother had very little choice but to let me dress myself, let me advocate for my own hairstyles and make decisions about my general appearance. i'd hazard a guess it was an exercise in sanity preservation for my parents, and perhaps a bit of choice vindictiveness as i now realize, being an adult and all, that there must be something quite satisfying about letting your daughter choose many askance wardrobe options and know that someday, in ten or fifteen years, you'd get to witness, first hand, their self-realization that they were, in essence, insane.  and they should have listened to you.

i'd imagine that's how it'd be anyway.

especially if your mid-twenties daughter continues to do silly things like wear (and actually LURVE) oversized glasses.

i've never strived for stylish.  i've always chosen those things that i think are fun, quirky and silly and worn them. much to my detriment, i suppose.

except for those damn permed bangs.  they were the sad results of me trying to be stylish and cool and up to date.  all of my friends had perms in 1994 and 1995 (we were so COOL in idaho!)  all i wanted in the whole world was curly hair.  my brown, long, straight hair was my everest.

but permanent waves were one thing that cindy put her foot down on.  after what i can only guess were weeks of whining and complaining and maybe even crying, she relented.  but just an inch.  no taking a mile with MY cindy.

and so a family friend/hairstylist permed my bangs in her kitchen on saturday afternoon.

so can you understand when i cringe just the tiniest bit when i imagine having a little girl and having to raise what is sure to be mini-kate, in all her "i dress myself, i choose terrible glasses, i beg for a perm and end up looking like i have a chia pet on top of my forehead for my school pictures" glory?

and that's not even taking into account the dangly skeleton earrings i insisted on wearing in my fourth grade picture, or the velour striped shirt in sixth grade.

some things never change

i share this all with you in the spirit of this being my two hundredth post, and it feels apropos to do a bit of soul sharing on such an occasion, no?


you are now welcome to share your musings on my ten year old self. or your ten year old self. whichever you prefer.




*eta: i am struggling to upload my vlog for tomorrow, so it's more likely you'll get it on monday.  i hope some of you will decide to join in, and in the spirit of this post, share your worst haircuts!*