Welcome to my blog, aka my place to comment and reflect on things I find inspiring, amusing, irritating, or baffling. When I was young, my Stanford PhD, former physics professor, software engineer father used to help me with my math homework, and I, being mentally deficient in all things math, could never quite get it. He would constantly say to me, "Jill, it's not rocket science." (Did I mention the PhD was in Aeronautics and Astronautics??) So I thought it would be an appropriate title for this blog because everything I write about is, indeed, not rocket science.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Everyone's had a bad haircut in their life. This was mine. I was 12 (this was my 6th grade school photo), and I chopped my long hair off. Actually, about a year before this disaster, I had a cute short haircut, but it wasn't this short. So when I went to Supercuts for a "trim," the woman butchered me. Sheared me like a sheep. I walked out with tears in my eyes and my mom had that "oh s**t" look on her face. She should have never taken me to a budget haircut place, especially for a short haircut, but that is beside the point (no guilt, Mom). I remember going home and sobbing in the backyard, wearing my dad's baseball hat, as if that would hide my horrible haircut from the world and I would disappear.
After that haircut, I officially looked like a boy. I was the tallest girl in my class, had long legs, a skinny, lanky body and was pre-pubescent. Strangers thought I was a boy and would ask my parents questions about their "son." It was humiliating. And it didn't get better for awhile, because as anyone who has grown out short hair knows, it looks hideous during the grow-out phase, too. Actually, worse than this. Oh, and I also got braces in 6th grade, which was the cherry on top of the misery cake.
Looking at this picture now, I think I look kinda cute, with my rabbit teeth and all, but that's easy for me to say 20 years later, when I'm not living it. At the time, during my most awkward and vulnerable years, it was horrible. It took me two years to grow this haircut out - I didn't have nice, long hair again until 8th grade.
I think having a bad haircut is a rite of passage. It was just very unfortunate that mine happened during my pre-teen years - as if those years aren't hard enough without the bonus of looking like the opposite sex. But my hair grew out, life went on, and I can laugh about it now. Bad hair is just a part of life.