Amy Lu's View

My mom’s hair was always styled–curled, set, permed, etc. It never just was. My mom’s hair was always doing something, always actively in or reaching toward a state of refinement or display. My mom always had a plan for her hair. 

I’m describing my mom’s hair as if it had a life of its own because that’s how it seemed to me. Maybe there was a day or two when my mom let her hair rest and just be, but I don’t remember it. There were no ponytail days for my mom. 

And of course, my mom always kept her hair dyed–no grey hair for Colleen. 

My mom’s attention to her hair was part of her overall style and approach to life. My mom was consistently “put together.” Even when wearing a sweatshirt–as she frequently did, although it was always ironed–she wore lipstick and a girdle. It didn’t matter if she was just going to be spending the day at home, my mom had standards she lived up to. 

My mom wouldn’t have understood people letting their personal grooming and dress codes slacken during Covid. 

Surprisingly, I don’t remember my mom spending too much time on her hair or her grooming. She did make weekly trips to the beauty salon (or beauty “saloon” as my dad used to call it, not sure if that was on purpose or by accident, but it definitely irritated my mom) so that may have taken care of most of her hair needs. Or my mom may have attended to her toilette in the mornings before I got up, so I may be unaware of how much time she actually spent. Or maybe because our family of five only had one, really uninviting bathroom (I still have stressmares about it) she may have learned to get in and out of it as quickly as possible. 

I’m pondering my mom’s hair because I recently shared via Facebook a photo of her from 1973 in which she is sporting a truly impressive hairdo. It’s a classic class photo of my mom when she was a teacher with her students. I shared the photo to commemorate the 23rd anniversary of my mom’s death. I received the photo from my sister back in February, and posting it felt a comforting way to remember my mom and my sister. 

In the photo my mom’s hair is majestically big, leading my friend Jennifer to ask if my mom was wearing a wig. 

I’m not entirely sure how my mom created the magical hairstyle, but I don’t think it was a wig. I do remember that when I was around 6 years old, my brother and I used to play with my mom’s hair “pieces.” We’d pretend they were furry creatures attacking us and throw them around and at each other and beat them into submission. So I’m hypothesizing that my mom somehow incorporated a hair piece–or even pieces–into her own hair so that it could wave to the people around her from such great heights. (Yes, I’m awkwardly and unabashedly working in lyrics from the Postal Service that have gotten stuck in my head as I began considering my mom’s hair).

The other striking thing about the photo is my mom’s expression. She looks annoyed, irritated, to be blunt–pissed. In addition to wondering about her hair and how she achieved her style, I can’t help but wonder about my mom’s mood and what caused it. 

My first thought is that she was probably mad at my dad, but since this is a school photo, would she still have been fuming about him several hours into her work day? Certainly there are several aspects of being a teacher, especially in 1973, that could have irked her–her coworkers or principal? Demanding or unreasonable parents? Misbehaving students? The stress of being a teacher and a mother? Did she run out of Tab? (I’m not sure she was drinking Tab in 1973 but it seems possible). Maybe her hair wasn’t as big as she hoped for?

Or maybe she wasn’t mad at all, and the photographer just happened to capture a fleeting expression that I only think signifies displeasure. Maybe she was just feeling thoughtful or determined. 

This post is full of speculation. Not only will I never be able to know what my mom was thinking when her big hair class photo was taken, I also can’t ask my sister to do some fact checking on my childhood memories as I used to.

But facts are only so important when it comes to family memories and stories. I may have some details wrong, but I know that my mom was fierce and resourceful and stylish. She kept her hair coiffed, her classroom managed, and her family sustained.

Such great heights indeed.