One of my fatherly responsibilities recently has been doing Alison's hair each morning before I leave for work. (Leslie did the first nine years, so it's only fair that I take over now.) I don't do anything too artistic, just something to keep her hair in check: two ponytails with a neat part down the middle. Usually it's quite simple, but today her hair was filled with knots and tangles, the result of an afternoon spent swimming at her friend's house the day before. As I tugged and pulled at the ends of the matted sections, I figured it would take me about fifteen minutes or so before they'd all be out, and I wondered if I'd make it to work on time. The one thing I was absolutely sure about, though, was that this would be nothing like the last time she had knots in her hair.
About two weeks ago Alison went to a pool party at that same friend's house. She spent two or three hours in the pool with her hair tightly braided to keep it out of her face. Later that night we learned why this was a huge mistake.
As Alison was getting ready for bed, she tried to take out her braids, but could not. As she described it, there was a knot in one of her braids, and she needed help.
When I arrived on the scene and assessed the situation, I knew immediately that we weren't talking about your average, run-of-the-mill knot. Calling this a knot was like calling the Titanic a boat -- and I feared that both voyages would end similarly. Alison had tried to undo the braid, but the knot would not yield. It had defended itself, tightening into a mass the size of a tangerine. My first thought was that scissors might be necessary.
When I was in high school I read a story by F. Scott Fitzgerald called "Bernice Bobs Her Hair." Like his well-known novel, The Great Gatsby, the story is set in the 1920s during a time when women were taking daring risks like wearing skirts in public. Bernice is a young woman who arrives in town to visit her cousin, Marjorie, and tries to win the favor of the social elite by showing up at all the cool parties and wearing all the latest styles. When Marjorie becomes jealous of the attention Bernice receives, she tricks Bernice into bobbing her hair, the most daring social risk of all. Bernice's new friends pull away immediately, and she leaves town in humiliation.
I thought of Bernice as I attacked the situation. With the possibility of shoulder-length hair and social humiliation looming in Alison's future, I began work on the monster knot, combing and pulling, combing and pulling. It was 8:30 PM.
My mistake was that I had approached things as if I were dealing with a normal knot. I tried combing it out, starting at the bottom, just like always. The problem, though, was that I still had no idea what I had gotten myself into. The combs and brushes weren't working; I had brought a knife to a gunfight.
At about ten o'clock it was clear that I needed help. Leslie took a look and was mortified. We used one of our life lines and called a friend to look for advice, but she gave us nothing. We put Alison into the bath tub and loaded her hair with conditioner, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference. Somewhere around midnight I ran out to our 24-hour drug store and bought a bottle of hair detangler. The knot laughed. A quick search on the internet suggested olive oil, so we made a salad on top of her head. When Alison complained about the smell, I finally came clean with her, telling her what Leslie and I had been whispering about all night: there was a very real possibility that we would have to cut her hair. Things were looking grim.
And then there was a breakthrough. I think it was somewhere around two in the morning when Leslie handed me a fork -- an absolutely brilliant idea. The tines of the fork could actually get into the knot and loosen it, and for the first time in about four hours there was a glimmer of hope.
It wasn't easy, though. As Alison lay on the couch, sometimes sleeping, sometimes crying in pain, Leslie and I took turns working at the knot until finally, somewhere between 4:30 and five in the morning, the knot surrendered. But like any war, there were no victors, only survivors. As proof, I offer this picture of Alison taken the next day.
the original braids should have worked. I say there was an error in the initial removal of said braids. don't let the 9 year old remove braids alone after swimming... (?)
Posted by: JoAnn | May 18, 2009 at 08:03 AM
I think you're right. Alison was having trouble taking them out, and that's when things started going wrong. Plus, I started trying to brush out the knot while it was still technically braided, and that probably just made things worse. Thankfully, it's a lesson we can laugh about now.
Posted by: Hank | May 19, 2009 at 02:41 AM