Into History....

As the Space Shuttle Atlantis rolled to a stop on the TV, the final, quiet sonic boom crossed the house and passed into history.

10 Inches...

10 inches. That's how much hair I had cut off the other night. It's a pretty big thing, actually, since 4 years ago I barely had a quarter of an inch of hair on my head.

Those of you who know me know my hair. It has a mind of it's own. See, my hair and I have an agreement: It does what it wants and I like it. It's worked out over the years. It's much less stressful to let wavy hair wave, rather then try to get it to curl, or not, in the style of the moment.

Mom always kept my hair short when I was growing up. What's cuter than a little girl with curly red hair? I always hated getting my hair cut. As I got older, I tried to convince Mom to let me grow it longer. Our first compromise was a shag cut, a mullet if you will, that makes me shudder now at the thought of it. Finally, some time between grade school and high school I started growing it out, and except for a few mid-length years in college it's been long ever since.

Until 2007.

In January 2007 I was diagnosed with breast cancer and after surgery came chemo. You all know what chemo means. Breast cancer is pretty traumatic, and anything you can do to feel like you have control over the situation is worth doing. So before I started chemo, I cut my hair short. Three inches short. I hadn't had hair that short since I was in 5th grade.

My wavy hair immediately coiled like a stretched spring that had been released. The waves turned into curls. Needless to say that didn't last long. Four weeks later, chemo did it's thing. I have to tell you, if I never see the shape of my own skull again, it will be too soon.

It was May when my hair started to grow again. By the end of June chemo was over and it was definitely making a comeback. The ends, as they grew out, twisted into ring curls, the rest of it followed suit. It gave new meaning to the term "curly" and remains curlier then it was before chemo even as it got longer. Fortunately, it also remains it's brilliant red, something I am very happy about.

There was a day when I didn't like the color of my hair. Until junior high I didn't know any other redheads. I was called "carrot top" and "fire head" and all the other names kids think of when they want to pick on you. I hated my hair color. It made me different at an age when nobody wants to be different. My grandmother used to tell me that everyone was jealous of it, that's why they teased me. She said I would love the color of my hair one day. You know what, she was right. Today I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Friends kept asking if I was going to let it grow again or keep it short. Everyone said it was cute when it was short. My cute days are long gone. I'm too old for cute. So I let it grow out again, only cutting my bangs when they got in my eyes. It was just down to my waist. It had also gotten to the point where, curls and all, it was getting hard to manage.

I've donated hair to Locks of Love 3 times, the last time right before chemo started. This will make 4 donations. The minimum length to donate is 10 inches. They use it to make hair pieces for children who have no hair, and can't afford to buy a wig. I can't think of a better thing to do with it. Lord knows I have a lot of it. My ponytail is over an inch across. It seems like its only fair to share.

My hair now sits right at shoulder length. The ring curls haven't returned, but it's still curlier then it was before. It makes me feel good to know that my hair might make someone happy. Some of the kids that Locks of Love help have also lost their hair to chemo. I know how they feel. If my hair goes to someone who is going through chemo, and I can somehow make it easier for her (or him) to get through that tough time, then it's worth it to me. I'll do it again, too, and this time it isn't going to take four years to grow it long enough to give away.