The Spark of Memory

It's funny the things we randomly remember from when we were little kids. The other day I was brushing my hair after my shower and the memory of my dad brushing my hair came back. My dad loves long hair and when I was younger I had really long hair, almost to my elbows. On occasion, after my showers my dad would have me sit on the floor in front of him and he would brush my hair until it was dry. My hair would be long, straight and pretty the times he did that. When Mom was out of town or at work and I wanted my hair braided I would sit down on the floor in front of Dad and he would pull my hair into one of those "face-lift" ponytails then braid it. The ponytail and braid, no fail, would always hurt my head and give me a headache, but I didn't care because Dad did it. That was about all he could do with hair, but it worked for me. After that memory had lapsed, I then thought about all the different hair designs my mom did for me. I feel bad for my mom because she did not get the cheerleader daughter she always thought she would have. She got me, the anti-cheerleader, sports enthusiasts who could learn anything but despised cheerleading and cheerleaders. Poor Mom! She always did my hair some really cool different way. It would be in a french braid, french braid pigtails, bun, halo braid, whatever she was feeling for that day. Sometimes it would take an hour for her to do my hair perfectly, but it still looked pretty awesome. Now that I don't have that talent around me anymore, I miss my hair being braided and sitting for long periods of time while someone was doing my hair. I have tried on numerous occasions to braid my hair and do cute things with it, but I can't, I just don't have that skill set. Now my hair is either down or in a ponytail. Oh, well. Maybe sometime in the future I will be able to have those sweet skills, but I won't hold my breath.