The Mother of All Bad Hair Days

***This is an old column but still one of my favorites!***


A Local Children's Salon Offers Mom Some Relief

By LISA MARTIN/Special Contributor to The Dallas Morning News

My daughter had just turned 5 when she got half a haircut. I swear on my own head it was as ugly as it sounds.

Back then, even a modest trim was a major ordeal.

I would put off trips to the salon until Paige's bangs tickled her nose and my husband started muttering the word "urchin." When I did manage to coax her into the stylist's chair, she'd sit still for all of six seconds. Paige invariably left with a mediocre 'do while I'd come away with a migraine.

This particular haircut proved the Perfect Storm – a wiggly kid, an anxiety-addled mother, and a stylist who looked as if she'd probably never even heard of the Farrah Fawcett feathers I had when I was Paige's age. The sole saving grace was the emptiness of the strip-mall salon. I had done a drive-by beforehand to make sure we'd have no audience; I knew my limits.

Of course, the whole misadventure might have taken a different turn if I'd simply told the hairstylist that my daughter has autism. I relied instead on a tried-and-true scheme for sidestepping the whole issue. Around strangers, I'd talk and talk and talk, as if my chatter would somehow mask the virtual silence of my nonverbal daughter. If I fooled anyone, it's only because the person figured poor Paige could not get a word in edgewise.

But on what morphed into the mother-of-all-bad-hair-days, the more manic my monologue, the more Paige seemed to squirm. Sweat beaded on the stylist's creaseless brow; at one point, I thought I saw her hands shake. A half a head later, the young woman threw down her shears.

"I'm afraid I'm going to hurt her," she whimpered. "I have to stop."

I wanted to say, "Honey, I've got to stop, too!" But for the first time during the whole mortifying incident, I found myself at a loss for words.

Months later, when I had almost come to grips with a lifetime of lopsided locks, I heard about the owner of a local children's salon who worked with special-needs kids. I drew a breath as I dialed her number – then I talked and talked and talked.

This time, though, I spoke honestly about our situation, going so far as to mention my dream of a tidy pageboy on my little girl's head. Miss Lita assured me she could help. My candor had earned me an ally.

To this day, once a month on Saturdays, Miss Lita opens her shop a half-hour early for Paige's appointments. Even better, never once in the last four years has she displayed anything but a calm, confident and caring attitude when it comes to my daughter, coif and beyond. Paige looks forward to each visit, as do I. With Miss Lita, I can talk about everything from Paige's struggles to write her name to how she finally learned to ride her bike to the latest issue of Vogue.

Vogue? Of course!

Miss Lita does run a salon, after all.


Lita Giddings' shop, Kazaams Kutz 4 Kids, is at 810 W. Arkansas, Arlington; 817-261-1233

Lisa Martin is a lifestyles columnist for The Dallas Morning News.