A Hairdresser's Diary: Scissors Retired

Chapter One

I thought Ron and I couldn’t be any happier and then — BANG! A devastating car accident targeted me in mid-June of 1970 and the memories were still painfully embedded in my mind even after five long years. So horrifyingly vivid were those first hours of being hit by the unconcerned, drunk driver that the recollections remained fresh in my mind and repeatedly played back in slow motion and freeze framed moments of anguish. I was overcome with anger as I recalled the way my back was twisted so severely and grotesquely. Seat belts weren’t installed in vehicles back then. If only!

I was sitting in the front seat facing Ron, my husband, with both of my knees resting on the seat. My feet were on the console and my left arm dangled over the back between us. Then, in a flash of a second, a drunk driver sideswiped us causing the whole top of my body to twist to the right. My forehead slammed onto my passenger side window and my knees remained, as if glued in place, on the seat. I thank God that Ron wasn’t badly injured, even though our vehicle was totaled. Fast thinking and still in shock, Ron was able to get us to the OPP station safely. He was smart enough to get the description of the car and had part of the license plate memorized.

It wasn’t long before an OPP officer had the drunk driver in custody. Remorse wasn’t part of this person's character. He had been driving a stolen car and without a driver’s license, and was on probation from prison. He was eventually charged with dangerous driving, but for someone who had caused so much devastation and destruction, he got off easily with a sentence of only a few more years in jail. My sentence, however, was far greater. I was the injured one yet, my punishment would be for life. How profoundly unfair that one drunken driver’s inconsiderate choice had changed the lives of an entire family!

At the time, Ron and I didn’t know just how much fight God had instilled in us. In the next few years we would have many an opportunity to show the world just what we were made of. I still remember those family members who thought these two nineteen-year old kids wouldn't last a year together, let alone have the guts and gumption to get through this life-altering situation.

By early March of 1974 there had been even more dramatic changes in our lives. We had been happily and delightfully reunited with my Baba and Guido only to be heartbroken when Guido passed away just a few weeks before our son Douglas Ronald was born. I was biding my time until I was comfortable about asking Baba how I could get in touch with my father. I had not seen him since my mother and he separated when I was only two years old. This however, left a gaping hole in my heart as I secretly wanted to know more about him, and not just the one-sided picture that had been painted by my mother’s bitterness. Connecting with my grandparents, I hoped, might bring me the second chance that I longed for. I must admit, though, I had a burning curiosity to see him again. I wasn’t sure if it was to confront him or to forgive him. Maybe it was a little of both. Baba made the arrangements and once reunited our visits were sporadic, but we were trying to get to know each other. I was looking forward to having our three children and Ron get to know him, as well.

This reunion didn’t sit well with my mother so we didn't discuss it with her. I had not seen my father in 26 years and we had all these years to catch up on. I was surprised at how tall he was, a towering six feet, four inches. This is where I must have gotten my height from because my mother was exactly five feet tall. Ron and I met him for the first time at his apartment in Hamilton. He was standing in a room filled with his friends who had gathered together to see me again for the first time since I was a little girl.

Ron spotted him immediately. There’s your father.

I was surprised and stared ahead. How do you know?

Honey, you look just like him.

Somehow that brought mixed feelings of anxiety and comfort.

His hair thick, light in colour and wavy was as I had imagined. When he looked up and saw me, he just stood and stared and I’m sure he didn’t know what to expect, either. The visit was comfortable and we all agreed that we would like to try to work at a relationship, and although peppered with uncertainty, it was in our opinion, one that we wanted to pursue. Yet, it seemed that cultivating a relationship was not in the cards at this time. I think we both needed more time to get to know each other, and so we made our visits short, but friendly, and then after a while, the time between visits began to get further apart. We made sure not to sever our ties completely and kept in touch by phone on a semi weekly basis. I wanted more, but it was clear to me that not having a daughter for so many years was difficult for him and his wife. Now there was not only a daughter, but her family, as well. My father never had any other children, just me.

The smartest and most life altering decision we ever made was to take the four thousand dollar settlement from the car accident — not more than an insult for the extreme loss we suffered — and use it as a down payment to build our tiny one floor castle. We couldn’t know how this one important decision would have such a positive impact on our young family. We would no longer look back. We went from Windsor Housing to becoming proud homeowners, and how proud we were of that accomplishment. We would take a horrible experience and make it something special and wonderful — a silk purse out of a sow's ear — or so they say.

One of the things that made it so perfect was that we brought our beautiful, seven month preemie miracle baby boy, Douglas, to our new home the first week we took possession. We had to leave him in hospital for five heartbreaking, frightening weeks after he was born. Weighing only three pounds, four ounces, he was too tiny, sick and weak from fighting for his life to come home with me. We knew he was our son when he fought and won. Christine, now nine, was the typical big sister who wanted to be a little mommy, and Terry who was four, was the big brother who wanted to protect his baby brother. God gave us three amazing, caring and loving children who rarely complained even when they had to chip in and help. It didn’t matter if it was helping with Douglas, housework or just running errands. While other children were outside playing, ours had chores to do and their playing came afterwards.

Doug was only a year old when I had to have an emergency hysterectomy. I was shocked, but so very thankful that my mother came to the rescue to take care of Christine and Terry. They were old enough to go home with her and they genuinely loved their Nanny and Poppy. To my delight, my mother and I had found some common ground. I no longer wept for the mother I never had. What she had lacked in motherhood, she made up for as a sweet, loving grandmother. She showed her love not just to our three children, but to the rest of the family, as well. She showed no favoritism. Poppy and Nanny always had a houseful of Grandchildren.

Mom and I had too much baggage to let bygones be bygones, but we could have comfortable and enjoyable visits. There were lots of cousins for our kids to play with at any one time. I must confess that I had painful moments when I caught myself feeling jealous of the attention she so lovingly gave my children; these thankfully were short-lived and fleeting. It was very important to me that our children have grandparents, something I had been deprived of. It was obvious she was still oblivious to the bad treatment she bestowed upon me. She acted as if it had never happened. When I tried to talk to her about it, she would look at me as if I was talking about someone else. I had to put it aside for our kids' sake.

Ron didn't want Douglas to be so far away because he was so young and fragile so we had a friend who came and stayed at the house and took care of him for the week that I was in the hospital. She also helped for the six weeks that I needed to recover. I was so content when Christine and Terry came home because I had missed them terribly and it was obvious that they were happy to be home, too. They were in good, caring hands, but they weren’t in mine.

Although I was healed from the surgery, I wished that was the end of my suffering, but some of it was just beginning. It seemed as if chronic pain and surgery were to be the two constants in my life. I was only twenty-seven and I had already been four times under the knife. This left me feeling lost, overwhelmed and useless for much of the time. I felt like a burden to Ron and the family; I couldn’t work, my household duties were limited and I depended on the kids and Ron to care for me too often.

Needing to find something — anything — to take my mind off of my pain and frustrations, I started accepting a few of my former customers for hair appointments in my home. These clients had been almost begging me to do their hair and asked to be notified if I ever decided to get back into the business again. No one had a problem with the inexact schedule I was a slave to. When it rained, my friends and customers knew that on those days they should not call for their hair needs. My fingers and my back were in far too much pain for me to work.

At first I was restricted to haircuts and styling, but gradually as I got stronger, I was able to stand or sit long enough to do the occasional colour or perm. Although I worked hard at home, this was a far cry from the customer base I had while working in a salon, but it kept my hand in my craft, and helped us a little financially. This made the few customers I accepted happy. But, what I craved the most was to have my fingers entwined and caressed in the strands of silky, flowing long hair, I so desperately desired to help make me feel alive and creative.

In 1974 things started to turn around for us, financially. Ron was promoted to salesman and some of the perks were a fully loaded company car, his own office and an expense account. Ron had worked so hard for this position and no one deserved it more than he. We splurged with a celebration dinner. The kids were so excited they could hardly wait to go for a ride in Daddy’s new car. Ron could hardly contain himself, as well. He couldn't wait to share with his mom — to show her just how far he had come from being a truck driver to a salesman with all the perks. His father had passed away from a heart attack in June of 1968 and it saddened him that he couldn’t share this great news with him. There was no doubt that he would have been proud.

For the first time in our lives I even had my very own car. We had come so far in these few short years and I believe it’s because long ago we had decided that we would never ‘pack up our tent’ or give up. We were determined that no matter what it took we would fight to survive. We would forge ahead to make our lives better, not just for ourselves, but specifically for our children. It was made obvious that both our families were proud of what we had accomplished. Frank, Ron’s brother, and Cathy, our super sister-in-law, showed their ongoing support.

Since I had my own car, on days that I felt well enough, I would go back to the old Windsor housing neighbourhood and cut a few heads of hair or give our former next door neighbour, Hildie, her much needed colour. Three of those haircuts and styles were for the three women who lived across the street. Sharon's husband was the architect who had built the tiny castle we now owned. I loved doing Sharon’s, Leslie's and their mother, Mary’s, hair. They wore the elaborate, high bouffant styles that allowed me to be as creative as my imagination allowed. Leslie, at one time in her career, was a practicing hairdresser and had a room in their house set up as a mini salon. This made my job very easy, but made me miss the salon atmosphere even more. To the lay person, this may sound silly but I missed the smells of the hairspray, perms and gels, and the sounds of the constant chatter from clients and personnel alike. Although I suffered afterward with body pain, it had been so satisfying for my soul and my ego.

This day was to be one of those days that was fixed in my memory bank and still makes me smile. Christine, then ten, had come in from school while I was bleaching Bethany's hair — something I did as a six-week ritual. This time I was using a new bleach product just out on the market and instead of going on white, it went on blue. Bethany was paranoid when it came to using new products on her hair. Over the years she’d had some very unhappy results. Even though I had been doing her hair all the while I was at Nora’s, she was still anxious. Christine walked in and when she saw Bethany's hair, she casually said, What a pretty blue colour, Mommy.

Hearing that, Bethany started to panic. She grabbed the hand mirror from the table and began to cry, Why is my hair blue? What have you done?

It took some fast-talking to get her settled down. I begged her to let me leave the bleach on to finish its work. She was very cool to me. It was as if all those years of total trust had instantly vanished. I couldn’t say anything to ease her anxiety. It wasn’t until I showed her the stunning final results that I could see the look of relief on her face and get a hug that indicated to me she was no longer concerned.

Christine learned a valuable lesson that day, to never make unsolicited comments when it came to a customer. I calmly explained to her that some people are obsessed and over react when it comes to their hair. Once alone, we joked about Bethany's 'panicky blue hair' over reactions. She shook her head wildly and said, Mommy, I don’t want to be a hairdresser. Too much fussy people!

My makeshift beauty shop was unusual and definitely not your run-of-the-mill salon. I had no specialized equipment, no fancy pump chair and no lighted mirror above my hairdressing table. I used a kitchen chair, a utility room sink and a hand mirror. Sometimes the sunshine was my only overhead light, and a lawn chair was my customer's beauty chair.

I had a habit in the summer of cutting hair outside, barefoot and in my bikini. I’m sure that for the passer by this would be quite a sight. There was more than one occasion when Ron would have to remove implanted hair from one of my feet or from my belly button.

I carried my scissors and comb everywhere I went. Without them I felt naked, as if a part of me was missing. When we went to visit either family, I always had a haircut or style to do. Even my mother was treated to a professional cut and style or perm when I went home. This pleased her because other than coming to me, she had never been to a beauty salon for a professional treat. I learned to cut my own hair by watching my mother cut hers during those years of growing up. What a turnaround in her thinking from just a few years earlier. Oh, how far we had come from the attitude that my hairdressing training was a waste of time and money!

We spent a great deal of time with Frank and Cathy as our two families were exceptionally close. The four of us were almost inseparable and Cathy and I were even able to finish each other's sentences. One pleasure I had was working with Cathy's long beautiful hair and when she allowed me to use my imagination, she was never disappointed.

It was on a beautiful, breezy, sunny afternoon after Cathy and I had just finished making strapless halter-tops for ourselves. Cathy, being the awesome seamstress she was, loved any excuse to switch on her sewing machine. These cute tops looked like short skirts with elastic that fit snugly under our arms and just fell loose to our waist with a bit of flair. They weren’t only cool to wear, but looked cool, as well. Just as we finished, Frank and Cathy's nineteen year old son, Aaron, who was the youngest of their three, reminded me he had asked me for a haircut earlier that day.

Cathy didn’t have a special place for me to do hair, so I tried to keep the mess outside as much as possible. In the warm weather, cutting hair was great. But for some silly reason, it’s not easy to cut hair in the snow wearing a parka and mittens. That would be a pretty silly sight and possibly produce a scary looking haircut, as well.

So there we were out in the backyard, and Aaron was sitting on a high kitchen stool, wrapped in one of Cathy's handmade hairdressing capes. I had the hair clippers plugged into an extension cord that was sitting on the picnic table along with a spray bottle filled with warm water, my scissors and my comb ready for use. Aaron wanted a short cut so most of his hair was cut with the clippers. The top though, needed to be wet so I used my scissors. The strong warm breeze was drying his hair as fast as I could cut it. All of a sudden, there was a big gust of wind and the freshly cut hair blew into my face. As it did, without any thought, I reached down and picked up my top to wipe my eyes. It wasn’t until I heard a gasp from Aaron that I realized I had no bra on. I had just flashed my young nephew. Oh my gawd! I was so embarrassed. How was I going to play this boo-boo down?

Aaron and Cathy were laughing hysterically as he hollered, Hey Dad, Aunt Chris flashed me. He could hardly stay seated on the stool because he was laughing so very hard. Cathy almost fell off the picnic table and I was sure she’d burst a vessel. Again he shouted, Hey Dad, Aunt Chris is trying to showing me her boobs.

I was so embarrassed. Aaron, I am so sorry; it was an accident. I tried to finish his haircut, hoping to brush the incident off as if it didn’t happen, but he would not stay still. He continued calling to his father. Finally, Frank came outside and Aaron told her what I did. I couldn’t apologize enough and then everyone started to laugh. Cathy suggested we move all the hair implements into the house so I could safely cut Aaron’s hair without me stripping. For the rest of the day, all in the house made gestures mimicking me pulling up my top. To make matters worse, Aaron's cousin, Charissa, was visiting. Now more family members would know of my stupidity.

A few days later Frank said. By the way, Chris, the neighbours want to know when you are coming to visit next.

Why, would they want to know that?

Well, they said they were hoping you would be cutting Aaron's hair in the backyard. It isn’t often they get a peep show with a haircut. I covered my face with my hands and we all started to laugh. Every chance Frank got, kiddingly remind me that I had flashed his son.

It was the next year that Aaron told us all he was gay. It wasn’t long before someone jokingly blamed my flashing him for being the reason. You know the old saying, Do something right and no one remembers, but do something wrong and no one forgets. How true! How very, very true!

Chapter Two

I was finding that not being able to pull my weight around the house physically or financially the way I needed was making me more depressed. The little bit of hair I was doing wasn’t satisfying my desires or my needs. My pain level was rising and when I look back, I know it’s because I was over medicated. I was very aware of the number of pills I had in my possession, making sure they weren’t in the reach of our children. It was confusing to me, why so many heavy duty pain meds couldn’t control my horrendous amount of pain. My many visits to emergency and to the doctor’s office only amounted to adding more drugs to my already over stuffed medicine cabinet.

I needed something to keep my mind busy. I had been writing more poetry and had entered a few pieces in contests and had won first prize in most of them. This, however, didn’t fill the nagging, gaping void I had inside me. I felt at times that my worth wasn’t anything! It was so unfair to Ron and the kids for them to have to do the household chores that I should have been able to do. Ron was the one who had to attend all the school functions as I was in too much pain to attend. I often wondered if someday my children would resent having to do so much more than their friends had to do. It seemed that I was always either in the hospital or in bed recuperating from one surgery or another. Looking back now, I know that wasn’t always the case, but at the time, I was overwhelmed.

My kids complained very little. This is what they grew up with and they accepted it. Doug was the only one who didn't have weekly chores to do — he was only two. Christine, now eleven, was cooking and helping with laundry and liked to feel grown up. Terry, now six, still knew what had to be done, as well. We were sure that they both would be waiters when they grew up. Why? You ask. Well, because they were always waiting for each other to do something. Christine was waiting for Terry and Terry was waiting for Christine.

Kenny, my nineteen-year-old nephew, wanted to attend culinary school in Windsor. The cost of apartments was very high so we offered to let him bunk with us while he went to school. I was delighted we could accommodate him, although the poor kid had to sleep on the couch because our small house had no extra rooms for guests. He didn’t seem to mind. Our kindness would be rewarded with yet another wonderful, professionally prepared meal. In the short time that he was our houseguest, our palates were teased with the exciting tastes of beef stroganoff, goulash and a multitude of delicious handmade pastries.

Kenny, in exchange, was introduced to one of Ron's favourite musical groups, Led Zeppelin. Ron was pleased to have someone to share his interest with.

Kenny soon gradated and moved back home, but we continued to enjoy his culinary masterpieces at family functions. It felt good to be able to be there for him and for my stepsister. Family is so important in one’s life.

It was during the regular monthly visit from our life insurance salesman, that he asked, Why don't you apply for disability pension? You would qualify if you paid into it. I gratefully thanked him, and when Ron came home I told him that I had called and requested information about Canada Pension Disability.

What is that?

It’s a pension I might be entitled to due to my disability and inability to work.

That would be a blessing if you could get it.

Well, the paperwork is on the way.

Now if I told you that I got the paperwork and signed it, and the government gave me a pension you would know I was telling you a fairy tale and you would be right. It didn’t happen like that. We once again had to fight tooth and nail with everyone, doctors and government reps alike. Doctor after doctor prodded, poked, and twisted me like a pretzel, all trying to find a reason to deny me what I had worked for and deserved. I cried and begged for them to stop the torture, but all my pleas fell on uncaring, unfeeling deaf ears. No one cared that all of this was causing my back to go into spasm or that I would be in emergency or laid up for days unable to function because of them.

At one of my sessions, Ron insisted that we not continue, and he took me out of the office and straight to the emergency room where I was admitted and given morphine shots to stop the agonizing pain. The emergency room doctor advised I refuse any further torturous examinations by these so-called insurance examiners. He gave me a letter to this affect and I sent it to the pension board officials. We fought for over a year and then finally, with perseverance and the help of a city official, I was accepted. To have to fight so hard for something one is entitled to is criminal.

So just before Christmas of 1975, I received my first cheque, which was retroactive to the day I had applied. I couldn’t thank God enough for answering my prayers. I’m sure He was tired of hearing my begging and pleading. I tried to promise Him that I would never complain about anything ever again, but we all know that was a promise I couldn’t keep. The most important thing was that I knew God knew it, too. The delight of this whole situation was that in the first month of the New Year I also got a raise. Don't let anyone tell you there is a way to get rich on these monies, but I will tell you that they helped to take the burden off of Ron. The day I got my first cheque was the day I finally felt productive and no longer so very worthless.

Ron and I planned an unexpected, inexpensive family vacation. We decided on Florida. You can imagine our shock when Christine said, Why don't you and Dad go alone? I will baby-sit. You deserve a vacation. We were so touched with her unselfishness. Obviously, it was clear we couldn’t exclude them. Excitement was thick in the air. We may not have been rich when it came to money, but we sure were rich in the love of our children. I swore that no matter what, I would never be the kind of mother that my mother was. I would be caring and loving, always finding the time to hug them, and forever saying, I love you. Our children grew up and were never embarrassed to say I love you back.

Our little Dougie was now going to kindergarten. How could five years go by so fast? At first he didn’t want to leave me, but it didn’t take long before he couldn’t get out the door fast enough. He had to play with his new friends. I never worried because he was always with Terry or Christine.

I was sad when he would ask me to play on the floor or rough house with him outside and the answer was always the same, Sorry, Son, Mommy can’t. I have a very sore back. Before long he didn’t ask anymore, or if he did, he would chip in with the answer himself.

I soon found a way to make myself feel more useful. I would go to the local schools where I would teach hair care, grooming and even a bit of make-up. That is where I met Sherry. She instantly became one of the family, and our baby sitter. The kids loved her. It was because of these classes that she decided to steer her career in the direction of hairdressing. I was so proud that I was able to make a difference in such a young girl’s life and help her awaken her dreams.

Distraction always helped me to deal with pain, and a move to a new house was quite a distraction. We would be moving into what we ended up referring to as our fifty thousand dollar a dozen, eggs house. We weren’t looking at the time to relocate or to buy a new house, but one day while trying to lift my spirits, Ron decided we should go for a ride. Our plan was to stop at a grocery store to get eggs that were advertised for fifty cents a dozen. That was a sale we couldn’t pass on. While pulling out of the parking lot, there was a huge sign advertising open houses in a new subdivision not far away. Simultaneously, we looked at each other, and with a smile, headed toward the open house.

Ron was excited. Chris, maybe we can just get a few new ideas.

We had been talking about sprucing up our home, but after spending any extra funds on our very first family Florida vacation, moving at this time wasn’t in the cards.

I was in love before I even got out of the car. What I saw as we drove into the driveway was a mansion compared to our small house. It was a touch of luck that the builder was there that day. He was an Italian man, short, stocky and balding, and spoke with a very thick accent. It was obvious that the man was a professional in every way. He was making some final touches to a buyer’s blueprints. While walking through the model home, Ron and I were very vocal about what we liked and what we didn’t. As we were talking, the builder kept repeating, That can be changed, no problem with that.

We told him, We aren’t seriously looking. He was okay with that, as well. On the way out after our tour, we took a flyer that had all the information on it. As we drove home we discussed how some of the upgrades in the model house would work in our existing house. That was the end of our discussion that evening.

The next evening when Ron and I were sitting in the living room, I casually said, We can afford it; we really can.

Not even batting an eye, he knew precisely what I was talking about, but chidingly he said, Afford what?

The new house! We can afford it!

I thought we weren’t in the market right now. Especially after we spent what we did to take the kids to Florida.

We aren't, but if we were, we could afford it.

There was a sparkle in Ron’s eye. Are you telling me we should seriously think about this?

Well, wouldn't you like a bigger place, now that we have three kids?

Have you thought this out carefully, Chris?

That’s all I had thought about. I've already talked to the bank. We can do it.

I had aroused Ron’s curiosity. So are you going to call the real estate?

Shall I do it tomorrow?

Absolutely, he said, absolutely.

We needed to talk to the kids about our plans. It wouldn’t be fair not to. They were excited, if not more than we were, and couldn’t wait to go see the model house. Off we went. It was closed, but we could show them most of it through the windows. They chattered all the way home.

The next day we had a for sale sign on our lawn and within days we were picking out carpet colours and shingles for our new home. It would take at least five months to build so we would have an exciting time ahead of us. This certainly turned out to be the priciest dozen eggs ever purchased. But it was an entertaining story to tell our family and friends.

As excited as I was, I was a little concerned about my home based clientele that I had been able to build. These dedicated customers helped us during the tougher times. The monies given me for haircuts helped buy bread and milk. I felt sadness, almost as if I was deserting these friends. I knew that we were moving far enough on the other side of town that most of them would not be able to keep coming to me. The arrangement we’d worked for well for everyone; I charged a price they could afford, and the money I made helped with extras.

Ron’s newly acquired position at work and a raise in pay is what was going to make it possible for us afford this new house—that and a much lower interest rate. Our friends, family and neighbours were very supportive and happy for us. They said they were going to miss us as much as we would miss them. Since I still wrote poetry, I wrote a couple of poems that told of my feelings about our new adventure and I shared them with my friends.

Last Goodbye

My friend, this is my last goodbye.

I find the words so hard to say,

I know I really should not cry

As part of me would like to stay.

A new life is