I was born in the seventies.
1975 to be exact.
The second of four children, I was a busy kid who loved getting grubby and riding my bike and inventing stories in my head. I was a bit of a dreamer and would play for hours with my brothers, my mates, or on my own.
Often I was a spy, a space pilot, or some kind of super hero who saved the world. Occasionally I was the damsel in distress, or an orphan trying to escape the cruel master who locked kids in his dungeon just because he was mean.
Looking back, I think part of the reason I spent so much time in my own make believe places was that I had so little control over the other stuff in my life.
My mum picked my clothes and many of them were hand me downs from my sister, even my first bra.
Because there were four of us, compromise was a massive thing in my house. We had to take turns who chose what to watch on TV, who got to tape the Top 20 on Sunday nights, who got the last biscuit, who got to sit next to the window on the bus, who got the first bath…you get the idea.
And I’m not saying that was a bad thing, but it was still irritating at times.
In fact, really irritating, that lack of choice.
But there was one thing that annoyed me more than anything else. One thing that grated on me every time I looked in the mirror.
You see, this is me aged three.
I’m the one at the top left with the naked doll.
This is me aged five…
And I bet if I’d noticed the kid next to me taking a sneaky puff at my candles at the time I’d have quite possibly bopped her one.
And here I am aged eight, at Newstead Abbey, home of Lord Byron (Though not anymore.) It’s just up the road from where I live.
Anyone notice a pattern?
A similarity?
A certain something that stands out in each picture???
Let me give you a clue…
Did you get it?
I’m talking about the hair. The pageboy hair.
The name says it all, ‘pageboy.’
1. It’s something posh you get at weddings.
2. It has the word ‘boy’ in it?
I mean, as the photos prove, I had it from the time I actually had hair, up until I was at least aged eight, and if memory recalls, I had it until I was about ten.
So, what was the catalyst that changed me from pageboy to a long haired lovely (snort).
This.
Me: Mum, can’t I let my hair grow?”
Mum: “Yes, okay.”
Me: “What?”
And in my head I was screaming, ‘Do you mean I’ve had this blumming mad hair cut all my life, and actually all I had to do was ask and you’d have let me change it? Nooooooooooooooooooooo.’
So, when David asked, “Have you ever had a hairstyle that makes you cringe when you think about it now?” My answer is yes, but the fact I didn’t even think to question it makes me cringe more.
And if you want to join in, answer this question on your blog, with a link to David, and leave a comment so he knows to come and check you out.
April 13th, 2008 at 2:41 pm
i can trump you! my mom was a hairdresser.
sometimes, she got mad at us.
and then we had to remember her wrath via the taunts.
it was a HOOT my childhood. really. a huge party. luckily i emerged not at ALL bitter.
okay, maybe a little bitter…
i’ll get the last laugh though. i’m picking her home!!! mu hu ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!
April 13th, 2008 at 3:17 pm
Feeling your pain but laughing WITH you!!!
April 13th, 2008 at 3:41 pm
Holl, I love you.
David, thanks. You gotta laugh right?
April 13th, 2008 at 5:45 pm
I had the little orphan Annie short permed do.
Oh my yes. It was rather horrific.
The not questioning making you cringe – so, so get that.
April 14th, 2008 at 12:42 am
Oh no! Not the Pageboy!
*Aoj runs screaming and hides from the memory of exactly the same haircut*
April 14th, 2008 at 6:09 am
Vinegar in a spray bottle, go for a slug hunt. ha! that’s a lot of fun for a kid. gross, but fun!
April 14th, 2008 at 10:19 am
I remember the times, it was competition between the Page Boy, Purdey or Lady Diana…different names, same haircut! Thanks for the memories and love the hair ;-D x
April 14th, 2008 at 11:55 am
Oh yes – laughing with you! Mum cut my hair for me and could only do boy haircuts.
Like Holly – I’ll be picking her home… *evil grin*
April 14th, 2008 at 11:55 am
That’s for MY mum, not Holly’s. One mum is enough. Holly can sort her own mum out.
April 14th, 2008 at 1:21 pm
I had the exact same hairdo. I’ve burned all those pictures.
April 14th, 2008 at 3:11 pm
Darling, I had exactly the same experience. It actually makes me feel angry and almost mutilated when I think about it. I was 18 when I was finally allowed to grow my hair, 18 when I got rid of my spots, and threw away my size 14s. Maybe that’s why I’m so vain? Maybe that’s why you’re so gorgeous? Who can say…xx
April 14th, 2008 at 7:03 pm
The feet picture was my favorite. You are right – they are perfect and I’ve never thought about it!
Jennifer
April 15th, 2008 at 7:46 am
What a pity that you had to live with it for 10 years! I forgot that my daughter & I had the Page Boy for a while. The family photos are awful.
Enjoyed this post. Glad you eventually got the style you wanted! Good Post!
April 15th, 2008 at 2:19 pm
Kim,little orphan Annie, nooooo.
AOJ, just how many victims are there? We should form a support group.
Jill, eughhhh, you sound like you enjoy that far too much. ;D
21st CM, they were trying to trick us. Bad parents.
Crazycath, snort, glad you’ll be icking your own mum’s home, hee hee. My mum’s friend cut our hair for a log time. I reckon she could only do pageboy.
Momo, I should burn them, but sometimes it’s good to look back and see how far you’ve come.
Despina, that must be why. It’s our turn.
Jennifer, kids feet are perfect aren’t they. Even when they’re all cute and grubby.
Maggie May, hi and thank you. I bet the photos are lovely really. And at the time it was cool right??
April 16th, 2008 at 11:10 pm
I think you look cute no matter what sort of hair hell you are in.