“I can’t. It’s like straw. It sticks out in all directions,” her standard response every time I suggested she stop perming her hair.  

“How do you actually know that, mom?” I’d respond. “You haven’t had your hair un-permed in 60 years!”  

“Well, not today.  Maybe one day,” she’d reply.  

You’re 90. I thought to myself.  If not now, when? 

For decades, mom and her hairdresser had as close a relationship as you can have. They met weekly for a wash and ‘set,’ a word that doesn’t even exist for most of us. Every six weeks, she’d have a perm.  Generations of hairdressers’ children have been educated on mom’s dime.  And no, for mom they are not called stylists. These are hairdressers located on plazas where you can park close enough to save your ‘do if it’s raining. Although it would be irresponsible to arrive without your rain bonnet and you never do, you still park close just in case of a rain bonnet failure.  But more than convenient parking, these are places where you read People magazine, where near-strangers know every detail of your weekend plan, and where you book your appointment for next Friday before you leave.   No-one offers you a chai latté or makes you listen to spa music.  If there is music playing, you can’t hear it over the hubbub of women chattering and the bank of hairdryers on high, frying chemicals into the heads of those sitting beneath.   

I remember meeting mom after school at “George of Brussels” on Josephine Street in Wingham. I don’t recall there ever being a George: hairdressers in Wingham were all women. And Brussels was a reference to the small neighbouring town. No-one in Wingham had ever given much thought to Belgium. Sometimes I’d have my hair cut there too, although I was more likely to let a high school friend fool around with a razor, being sure of course to leave the peroxide-soaked rattail intact - but that’s for another blog.   

Forty years before my punky 80s look, it was de rigueur to sweep hair off the face in a Hollywood glamour way and for mom, this showcased the broad forehead we’ve all inherited.  No perms then.  The wave was locked into her long chestnut hair with overnight rollers and lots of morning attention. This was her look through her teens and into her early 20s. Pix of her with dad suggest she didn’t give up on her posh look, even after she’d snagged her fellah.  Regrettably I couldn’t track down a digital wedding photo where you’d have seen how this hair height was enhanced with a little do-dad to hold the veil - a tiara sort of affair I guess you’d call it.  

As mom progressed through the 1950s, her four kids took priority over hair.  In a three generation photo with my eldest sister and my grandma, mom looked more harried than coiffed. Presumably early motherhood will do that. I wasn’t alive so I can’t say for sure, but I’m guessing as the decade progressed, she had the most practical hair possible.  But not straight.  Because it’s like straw, she’d have said.  I would guess the perming started then, this would have been a priority and she would have stretched her small household budget to include it.  But that is a pure speculation and I’m really hoping when she reads this blog, she offers a comment to set us all straight on this!  (mom, use the comment function at the bottom if you want to clarify anything here)

Into the 60s and early 70s, mom’s hair still involved a lot of spray and backcombing creating a bit of a hard shell to arm her for the changing world.  Sometimes she’d shake it up a bit with a hat - like the stunner she wore on holiday in Michigan with her navy crimpoline shorts and matching blazer, circa 1972.  

By the mid-70s, Dorothy Hamill’s wedge cut were popular at places like George of Brussels and mom gave up on those firm, matronly looks.  She tried a couple of versions including a stack perm on a wedge, making her look a little like a flying saucer. The 70s were an excellent time for hairdressers who gave perms.  But she held firm to her rain bonnet. You don’t want all that effort to fall flat. 

As mom moved into her 50s and 60s, her hair finally started to go a little grey. It’s always been a point of great pride she’s never coloured it and even more so, that she went grey later than most.  Other than the slow fade of colour, her hair underwent very little change through the 1980s and 90s. These were the first years of financial freedom for her and she really relied heavily on the hairdresser.  She delighted in her regular perms and sets. 

At her 90th birthday in January 2018, she happily covered her perm with a new hat I got her. She’s always been fond of hats although rain bonnets are clearly better. (Oh I do wish I had a photo of her in a bonnet!).  

And then it happened. Out of the blue and just before the COVID hair-lockdown, mom decided to stop perming.  And she loves the result.  Every time we see her on Zoom, she asks, innocently as though we’d not been asked before “What do you think of my hair?” Truth is, it’s not like straw at all! It’s beautiful white hair with just enough body to ‘work’ and just as thick as when she was 20.   

Happy 70th Mother’s Day, mom.  Thanks for showing us it’s OK to be grey; I salute your courage to take risks even at 92; and I can’t wait to have your thick hair for another 40 years! 

May every day be a good hair day for you, mom! 

PS - Upon having this blog read to her at my niece’s place, mom pulled her rain bonnet out and put it on, Even in the blazing spring sunshine she will not be caught short!