I had a perm in kindergarten.
Every morning my mother diligently primped my hair with her curling iron to perfect it before school. (Never mind that she also had my two-year-old brother to care for at the time.) One morning, probably in a rush to do all the things, my mother accidentally singed the top of my ear. I didn’t let anyone near me with that styling tool again until I was in high school.
That time my mother burned my ear because I had a perm in kindergarten
Three decades later, as the mother of two daughters ages three and five, I looked at pictures of my five-year-old self and wondered what in the world my mother was thinking when she gave me a perm. Apparently, though, my insistent daily requests for a curly bob just like my teacher’s wore her down over time. As ridiculous as my hair dream seems now, I know that wish was rooted in a desperate desire to emulate my role model.
Captivated by the patience, kindness, and all-around goodness of my seasoned kindergarten teacher, I wanted to follow in her footsteps. In my five-year-old mind, I suppose that process started with copying her hairstyle. She also loved Winnie-the-Pooh, and I adopted that interest too.
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