I like this picture of my sister. Doesn't she look great? I like the way her hair is blowing in the wind. She's always had great hair--nice color, and she can grow it long. My hair stops growing at a certain length now, most unattractive. Right now I'm wearing it in a pretty icky way, haven't found anything I like to do with it. What I really want to do is shave my head.
When we were little--and into our pre-teens (or 'tweens, in libspeak) people would ask if we were twins. duh. We NEVER looked much alike. She looks like our father, I look like our mother. or sort of.
I had beautiful long silky light blonde wavy hair when I was very young, like 2-3. Once, in Turkey, we were playing beauty parlor with friends. My friend cut my wonderful hair off. My sister's friend used pretend scissors, my friend (a realist) used real ones. I remember what happened when my mother came home that afternoon: she screamed when she saw me. She had been very proud of my beautiful hair. She said this: "Do you know what I have to do? I have to cut it to even it out. THERE'S NOT ENOUGH LEFT TO CUT!" She was actually quite nice about it. All the pictures of me after that show a big chunk taken out of the front, where most people have bangs. But I'm always smiling, a big goofy grin.
I think my parents were happy when we lived in Turkey. I don't think their children were. I remember dark haired, dark-skinned men grabbing for me (and my sister) because they never saw blue-eyed, blonde haired little girls. They liked to touch us. And they loved to jump on our car because they had NEVER seen an automobile, out in the villages where my father loved to go. Molly and I begged to ride in our friends' VW bug because the men couldn't grab onto it, the way they could our '49 Plymouth station wagon. Which was a beautiful car, by the way.
I wish I had nicer memories of Turkey.
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