Most of us have hair … or at least we start off fresh in this world with it … & mostly take it for granted. Maybe we give it a little extra thought when it’s time for a cut or trim or a new style, & as we get older we may think about it again when trying to decide whether or not to add color. Except at those special times I’m guessing we don’t sit around thinking about our hair on an hourly basis.
I guess, though, that I’m one of those people whose hair has been at the forefront of my mind on a number of occasions. Way back when I was a preschooler .. maybe even a toddler … my mom use to dress me up, add a matching bow in my hair, stand me in front of a mirror, clap her hands & ask, “What will they say when they see you?” That made me so rotten that after a while & before she had a chance to say it, I’d look in the mirror, then look at my mom & ask, “What will they say???”
I remember a very bad time in dancing school when my mom took me to a beauty shop & she & I got matching haircuts. Before I could even think to ask, “What will they say?” my dance teacher hit the roof & demanded that my mom tell her what she was thinking when she cut my hair. At the time I was the “star pupil” in a sea of little 5-year-olds who wore their hair long because my dance teacher thought all little ballerinas should have long hair. Until my hair grew & gained a little of the lost length, things were strained in the school of dance. My hair was the cause of the issue.
I’ve always had good hair. In the days when we’re most critical of ourselves I knew I didn’t have the greatest figure or the most beautiful face but I was aware that I had good hair. So in 7th. grade when my girlfriends & I were attempting to put together the “perfect girl,” she always had Becky’s hands, Pat’s eyes, Carolyn’s figure & my hair. It was good to be a part of something.
You may wonder why, if I had such good hair, I chose a profession as an Operating Room RN for 38 years where I kept that good hair covered 8-plus hours a day, 40-plus hours a week. I can only offer that with intellectual maturity came a desire to be part of a helping profession without a minute’s consideration of my hair.
Over the years my “good hair” has taken a direct hit from illness. I’ve lost a considerable amount of it 3 times to fluctuating thyroid hormones, which has been a disease that has caused an on-going battle for more than 30 years. In 2008 I lost most of it & resorted to wearing wigs for almost a year following chemotherapy for breast cancer. But we do what we have to do & just keep moving forward, thankful for the chance to have a longer life.
My generation was on the cusp of being “establishment” (because we were raised that way) & of being hippies, flower children & free spirits because the Age of Aquarius was dawning. While we dodged school hall monitors carrying tape measures threatening to measure the length of our skirts above our knees & attempting to comply, we secretly went home, closed the doors to our rooms & played the music of our time on our record players.
My ‘break-out’ album was HAIR; a vinyl record that came in an exciting cover & played at 33.3 RPMs on my record player.
I was fascinated with the often forbidden lyrics, the movement it screamed of & the off-Broadway play of the same name that drew daily comment & criticism because of the NUDE SCENE at the end of Act II. I was too much of a weanie to actually BE a flower child but listening to that album took me there simply by turning off the lights, turning ON a black light & increasing the volume to arc weld on that little blue portable player. It was my music & MY TIME. I must have played that album until the grooves from one side blended into the grooves on the other. I knew every word of every song; even the controversial ones. And eventually I let my hair grow … long & beautiful, flaxen waxen … my HAIR.
A number of years later I had an opportunity to see the play presented by a traveling troupe in Roanoke. We had far away balcony seats but we were close enough to be aware that at the end of Act II the actors DID INDEED appear, very briefly, totally nude on stage. It happened so quickly that before you realized what was happening, it was over … & sort of anti-climactic … but I’d finally seen HAIR in its fully advertised & uncut glory. It was the experience of a lifetime.
Here on the 50th anniversary of the birth of the tribal rock musical HAIR, our local Renaissance Theater had a 2 week run of the play. Local actors filled the roles of Claude, Berger, Crissy & the Tribe. Because I’m on the email list of the theater I immediately called a couple who are our age & very close friends & asked them if they’d like to see the play. Without hesitation they said yes & I proceeded to purchase 4 front row center seats without regard to cost.
With eager anticipation we looked forward to the night of the play.
We got there early.
The Renaissance Theater is small; several rows of bleacher-type seating to the left & right of the stage & a larger section of similar seating directly in front of the stage-area. It isn’t really a stage but is a large area where the entire play happens with a few minor set changes. A huge peace sign surrounded by flowers was painted on the floor & enhanced by a rotating black light. The atmosphere was electric as we took our seats in the front row.
As the play began one of the actors sat on my husband’s lap & another took off his jeans & handed them to our friend, Beth. Dutifully, & as a reminder of the years between us & HAIR, she folded them & held them on her lap until he came back to retrieve them.
The opening song was Aquarius. My arms danced with chills & my mind flung me back to that place where memory suddenly takes us sometimes where we hear echoes of the people we use to be & songs that were a part of making us who we are today. I felt a huge lump in my throat that threatened to produce tears all throughout the play. I was catapulted back through time. It was surreal & wonderful & an experience I was glad I hadn’t missed … made so much better on front row, center seats.
The cast was amazing, talented & superb. It was impossible to make myself understand that probably NONE of them were even born when HAIR was an off-Broadway production causing such a stir.
You could look around the theater & KNOW instantly which members of that ‘sold out’ crowd knew exactly what HAIR was all about & which ones had season tickets, came to the play because they had those tickets & didn’t have a clue what HAIR was. There was a bald man (which may be significant) in the first row of the left section who looked thoroughly disgusted the entire duration of the play, 2 older women in the right section with gray hair wearing flowing skirts, shawls, sandals & a few strings of beads each who were exactly where they wanted to be, & an elderly woman to my right who sang along with all the songs. Mostly it was a crowd of like-minded people who somewhere in their past shared many of the same things, including dreams, the love of music & flowers in their hair.
After it was all over I wanted very much to go back another night & see it again but someone told me, “It wouldn’t be the same. We really can’t go home again.”
We didn’t go back but I disagree. For 2 hours on an April evening I was transported back to my youth in the presence of music I love, to a part of my life that was memorable. That never changes & as long as hearing a special song or having a flash of a special memory is possible, you CAN go home again.
HAIR remains a significant part of my life.
In the lobby as we were leaving the theater my husband looked at me in awe & said, “I heard you singing. You knew EVERY word of EVERY song!” I smiled & said softly, “Of course I did …”
Did this version of HAIR have a nude scene at the end of Act II? No it didn’t & I realized it actually added nothing to the play originally & was simply the hook that got people into the theater in those first tentative performance months in the late 1960s. Nudity on stage had not been done before & was what fed the public curiosity. And you know what? In the midst of the music & the nostalgia, I didn’t miss it at all.
heimdalco 