Letting It Go…..hopefully

Y’all know how I am with dates and anniversaries and marking time, and such. I do have such a love/hate relationship with it all. Thus this post will go. Love. Hate. Whatever. I gotta get this one on paper so it will be out of my head, even though it’s about six months early. It’s been on my mind for a couple months now, so it’s time to bust it out.

It’s been awhile. Awhile since I started my career. Awhile since I went to school for my career. Awhile.

Thirty years, give or take.

That’s a long time, y’all. Quite awhile.

I knew from an early age I wanted to be a hair dresser lady. I always had dolls I styled, had a mannequin head I applied makeup to and styled her hair, and by the time I was in highschool I was cutting guy friends hairs and styling girl friends. I desperately wanted to go to cosmetology school straight out of highschool, but that was not what the parents had in mind for their girls, so I complied. I mean, come on, who doesn’t like to have a roof and food and all the things, right? But I struggled through college; took four years to attain my two-year degree. (I got it, though. Nobody can take that from me) (Every once in a while I think about going back to complete a bachelor’s, but then I regain consciousness)

Anyhoo

Seemed as though hair school wasn’t in the cards for me, and I acquired a “real job” learning basic books and business running and the like. Valuable skills I still use to this day. Thanks Dan and Dave – you taught me well and were very patient with me – I’ll forever be grateful. But it wasn’t what my heart desired or really where my talents laid, so I whined and fussed and plotted a course which my husband was kind enough to walk out with me. You see, it wasn’t long after I finished my college stint that I got married. We figured while we were still young and dumb and didn’t have any kids, it was now or never for hair school. I will say, he was very kind and patient about it. In my city there were only two choices for school – a pricey private gig or the local vo-tech, which had minimal fees and late night hours to suit the working folks. That was my place and those were my people.

I continued my full-time job from eight to five every day, grabbed the cheapest dinner I could find (usually a Wendy’s baked potato and cup of chili, to the tune of two dollars) and headed to school from 6pm till 10pm, four nights a week. There were also lots of dinners made of packs of crackers or granola bars or a cup of soup, and about once a week I’d call my Mama and see if she wanted to go to, I mean take me to, dinner. She always said yes. This lasted two years.

In this world, schooling is based on hours, not the number of classes or GPA or semesters. To be board exam eligible you had to have completed 1200 hours of schooling and have your instructor sign off that you’d completed a required number of tasks. Monday nights were book work, Tuesday through Thursday were service work nights. The public was welcomed to come get super cheap haircuts, color, and perms, and we got practical, hands-on learning. There’s also one other choice, Barbering or Cosmetology. I chose Barbering, and here’s why: there is very little difference between the two. Barbers are licensed to use an unguarded straight razor, cosmetologists are not. Cosmetologists are licensed to apply false nails, barbers are not. Other than that, there’s really not much you don’t learn in either school. Cuts, colors, perms, manicures, pedicures, basic facials, both schools can do it all. I chose Barbering because I knew I’d never do nails, so why spend six weeks learning acrylics when I’d never need the knowledge or skill.

Barber school at night was an entire universe unto itself. Our class was made up mostly of young black men, a few black girls, one Hispanic girl, and me. We had a blast. And we all got quite the education from one another. We were all old enough to be out in the workforce full-time, which is why we were in night school. In fact,one of our classmates, Mr. Richard, was a highschool science teacher whose dad, I believe, was a barber, and Mr. Richard was getting his license to be able to work part-time with his dad and also develop a line of hair products, since he was, after all, a science guy. I’m telling you, we had a very diverse group.

We had fun minor mishaps like learning the hard way that what white girls call a “perm” is far different from what black girls call a “perm,” and cutting a white girl short haircut is very different than a black girl’s. And men’s cuts? My first fade on a black guy took over two hours. The guys in the class were dying. It was my first – and last – fade. But we all helped each other, we were all eager to learn, and we all encouraged each other to the finish line. And we all did just that – finish. I don’t know where any of my classmates are now, but I sure hope they’ve had successful careers, because it’s a great industry to be a part of.

But there was also another component so vital to our schooling. I mentioned it earlier; the brave folks who came to the school for services provided by the students. They are the true Greats of this story. I mean, come on, it’s like one of my friends always reminded me as I started to cut, “nothing grows out slower than a bad haircut.” Probably very true. I did my best not to let anyone have to suffer out that one. I hope I at least came close to succeeding. I had business friends, church friends, family, and strangers all let me practice on their noggins. Classmates, too. And I let them practice on me, as well. Everyone was kind and generous, patient and willing to take the risk. I am forever grateful and appreciative. They all gave me the opportunity to learn, hone, and prepare for the future.

The angst, (have you noticed that’s one of my favorite descriptors?), however, that still gnaws at me and hopefully will be let go after I get it on paper and out of my head, is another one of those stupid things that has bothered me, and nobody else on the planet would even care. It’s ridiculous that I still think about this, but I do, because it bothered/bothers me to this day. It’s twofold, actually. First, it bothers me because I never gave what I felt like was a proper “thank you” to those people, and they most assuredly deserve it.  And secondly, because I didn’t stand up for myself and insist that I give that proper “thank you.” See, it was real simple. I just wanted to throw a small “Thank You Party” at the house for the people who were brave enough to set foot in a hair school. But I was told it wasn’t necessary. I was told it didn’t need to be done. Basically told it was a stupid idea.

And I didn’t stand my ground.

I gave in, and stupidly have regretted that for almost 30 years.

See how crazy that sounds? I do.

Why in the world would I tote something like that for so long? Why wouldn’t I let it go? Why didn’t I stand up and just do it anyway? Why didn’t I confront it? Why have I carried it?

I think the first answer is because I feel like I let those folks down. I didn’t acknowledge their effort with some effort of my own. Of course I told them “thank you,” but I felt like putting a little more effort into it and making an evening all about them and what they did to help a friend would have meant so much more. They deserved some doting upon and extra love. And I didn’t give it to them.

I think the second answer is because I have regretted not standing up and doing it anyway. I mean, come on, is it ever a bad thing to honor those who have efforted in your life? No, it is not. And I failed at that for them. I failed at standing up and doing something kind and sweet and good and loving. I acquiesced in the worst kind of way. And I have regret. And I’m mad about it, too. Mad at the person who said “no.” Just plain mad.

So there’s no time like the present to let it drift out of my psyche, I suppose. It’s never too late, right? It’s not like I dwell on this every day, but every once in awhile it comes up and I’m just all the emotions all over again.

But, mostly just mad at myself.

So let’s all just hope this little bit of therapy works on me, and I can begin to let this stupidity ease itself away from my mind and heart and quietly rest in the love those sweet people showed me all those years ago. And let me say to those brave folks who let me practice on them, one more time,

Thank you!

and, I’m sorry……