During all my elementary school years, I was the kid who raised her hand when the question was, “Whose mom can . . . ?” because “My mom doesn’t work!” Nope, my mom just had five kids and a dog, a homeless pregnant cat now and then, and the occasional fruit jar containing a tarantula or a gecko or some kind of snake that My Brother Bob had adopted. So Mom always had time to chaperone, or drive, or bake cupcakes for 30.
Except for Election Days. On Election Day, Mom became a Poll Worker. So, once every couple of years or so, she would be up and out of the house before we kids were even awake, so that she could get to the polling place bright and early. Having Mom gone when I woke up was always unsettling for me, but it was nearly tragic (in little girl terms) that one time in third grade.
I had long thick hair that grew down past my waist. Since I was Mom’s last child, she might have been clinging to the young princessy look for me for as long as she could get away with it. Or maybe she just liked to hear me whine when she lathered me up with Extra Tears Extra Harsh shampoo and then used a fine tooth comb on the tangles, who knows. At any rate, long thick loose hair didn’t work very well on a third grade tomboy, so Mom always put it up in a pony tail or braids.
Unfortunate bangs
But that one time, on Election Day, she wasn’t there, and so that left Dad to deal with the hair. Daddy knew how to do almost everything and I’m sure he figured a simple pony tail was no big deal, so he brushed and scrunched and pulled all that hair into a #64 heavy-duty rubber band and sent me out the door. I caught a sideways glance at myself in the mirror and I knew it wasn’t right, but I didn’t say a thing as I set out for my walk to school.
As soon as I got out of sight of our house, though, I pulled out that poor pitiful ponytail that was way off center and spewing hair out in all directions. I knew two things for sure: One, I couldn’t show up at school with that sad ponytail, and two, I sure couldn’t let Daddy know that he had failed when he was trying so hard to fill in for Mom. So I shook out my hair and let it hang free, and later, when Miss Pratt, our hearty, beefy, never married (not that there’s anything wrong with that!) gym teacher yelled at me for not having my hair up for track and field that day, I kept quiet and shot her my best fish eyed glare.
In other news, Barry Goldwater was reelected to the United States Senate that day.
