Last updated October 28, 2001
More photos will be added soon.
1976...11 years old
I had a cute mushroom kind of haircut which fell to my shoulders even when curled.
Please note that mom DID wash my clothes...
The picture is stained from something.
By the way, Mom made my shirt, isn't it adorable?
My hair, as always, was straight, with the ends curled under.
As I got older, it became stringier.
Then came the dreaded pony tails I never took care of.
CLICK TO ENLARGE PHOTOMouthful of Honeycomb cereal.
Apparently not sharing with the dog; Bridgette.
1977...12 years old
Hair was bleachy from the sun. Heavily streaked.
I had the stupidest curly flip feather things on my head. I guess they were supposed to be bangs.
1978...I got a haircut.
I don't remember how or where, but I looked like I went to a barber shop instead of a beauty salon. Maybe that was the time my mother marched me back to the beauty shop demanding that the woman fix what she had done to my hair the first time. For Pete's sake, the woman had actually shaved sideburns on my head, and I was only 13! I think that was the year that my mother began trimming my hair for me and I was scared away from salons for quite some time.
1979, 1980...I discovered the blow dryer.
I also found Oscar. Oscar was a nice looking gay Mexican man. He was the only one I trusted to cut my hair, and he did a wonderful job at it. Years later I would return to have him give me The Perm from Hell. Oh my.
1984...Almost sitting on my hair:
My hair was again bleached blonde from the sun and the chlorine of the public pool. I often wore it pulled back in barrettes with the ends curled like a spiral perm. Very blonde, very pretty, so healthy.
1985...I fell victim to the scissors
In a moment of haste, I decided that I must return to my former hairdo of feathers. I told no one, I joined fellow schoolmate; Debra Brown, at the mall for one heck of a haircut. It was shoulder length and feathered back nicely, but hey, what was I thinking???I looked like an eighth grader.
I saved the wet hair in a Ziploc bag in a dresser drawer in my hot New Mexico apartment. How was I to know it would mold and need to be disposed of?
1987, in my parent's back yard.
1986, 87, 88...Marriage came and marriage went.
My son was born and I didn't have the play time for hair that I used to. Plain, hanging down hair in barrettes. How boring. I tried a perm. Good gosh, I paid sixty bucks to have someone fry my hair, and I ended up with one tiny twist in the front. Bad mistake. Never again. I worked as a cocktail waitress, which at least inspired me to curl my hair.
1988, 89, 90, 91..Another baby has arrived.
No time to play make-up and hair. Jump in the shower before hubby gets home, braid it to one side and wear a bandana. Typi