Letters to God

I recently saw a photo of my aunt posted on her business website. The first thing I noticed is how fragile she appears. She no longer looks big and powerful. She’s no longer the person I remember who had me cowering in the corner. As she held her fist above me all I could see was wood, wood detailing, a wooden door, and wooden floors. When I saw her photo all I saw was an aged woman with bad hair.

My family is made of the strong work horse type. We live forever but we don’t age gracefully. My grandmother is still living. I’ve seen a photo of her. She doesn’t look so strong anymore either. As a matter of fact it looks like if you blow on her she’ll fall over. This isn’t the woman who beat her children with a walking stick. This isn’t the woman I remember who could make my mother a small girl with a word. She too has bad hair.

My other strong genes come from my grandfather who endured  poverty,  served in 2 wars,  survived 3rd degree burns from the waist down then finally lost his life at 87 to his 9th stroke. He’d been through enough. He had nice hair. My greatgrandmother was the “Matriarch of Pain” who finally died  at 95 of leukemia which had gone into remission when she was 5 years old.  She had pink hair. We have many, many family members who made it to their late 90’s all with really bad hair. So here’s the thing, I know my life isn’t going to be easy. I know I’m going to continue to have major trials and tribulations but I ask, I implore, that I not end up with bad hair.

I’ve never beaten anyone with a stick, held someone captive in a corner nor do I call myself the matriarch of pain so please, I beg of you, save me from my bad hair destiny.

To live clear into my late 90’s with bad hair is cruel and unusual punishment for a woman who really would like to serve you well and be a good person. If I could I’d like to plead my case. In my life I’ve done some things worth being given bad hair over but I’ve also done loving things and countless selfless acts. Remember that kitten that came on my property begging for food and I offered him warm milk only later to find out he was a girl? The vet was pleased when I changed his name from Hobbs to Haley. I did good right? Then of course there was the time I had the opportunity to push my mother’s wheelchair in front of a bus but opted for mercy instead. Let us not forget how I showed restraint when I passed up the chance to slip a chocolate flavored stool softener in my roommates favorite hot drink. I believe these few actions warrant mercy from you.

I know life won’t be easy for me. It never was and I’m sure it never will be. For example, true story, the other day in the herb store I climbed three flights of stairs to purchase lavender. My first mistake was one of pride. All I had to do was ask an employee to go get the lavender for me but nope. I was too proud so I took these wobbly knees and went up the same three flights of stairs I got stuck on almost two years to date. Pride before getting stuck on stairs. I didn’t learn my lessons so I climbed those stairs again. When I got to the top I turned the corner to follow my nose. The first thing I saw was a young lady who did a double take at me then said, “I make products for people with hair like yours.” Shocked I replied, “What’s wrong with my hair?” She said, “Well, nothing my products can’t fix.” She pointed to a mason jar that looked like it had white oily water in it and a kitchen spoon. She told me to come to her and she’d fix my hair right up. That experience at the herb store and seeing my aunt on the interweb with locks of horror has prompted this emergency prayer. I ask that you remember your servant with kindness and beauty.

I saw a photo of my brother’s hair. Can I have his hair, please? I’ll work on the pride thing, I really will.

Humbly Yours,
Joan of Arc

Letters to God-Thursday, June 11, 2009 – 11:42AM EST