Day 4: Bops

She told me to hold still. It would only be a little while longer. But I couldn’t take the pain a second more. I squealed and ran out of the bathroom down the hallway. But her long legs caught up to me in no time. She scolded me, took my arm, and half dragged me back to the bathroom to finish what she’d started. She unsheathed her hairbrush from the drawer like a weapon and proceeded to pull my baby hair back into a hairstyle we called a “bop.” I sat there in silence while reflex tears streamed down my face. 

Maybe this telling is a bit dramatic, but that’s really how I remember it. I don’t know why it hurt so much, but trust me, it did. And every time Momma did my hair like this, little tender-headed three-year-old me was NOT a happy camper. Honestly, I’ve never been much of a hair wiz, but then again, I don’t think my mom was either. But every once in a while, especially now that my sisters are moved out for a majority of the year, I wish I had an extra pair of eyes in the morning to assist me with outfits and hair and makeup or someone to help curl or straighten my hair on special occasions. Sometimes it’s the little things about not having a mom that get to me. But on the rare occasion that someone is doing my hair and pulls a little too hard, I can sometimes hear Momma telling me to put on a brave face and sit still like a big girl.

-Sara Joy

“happy camper”

~ by Sara Espiritu on December 5, 2019.

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