Hair colour 1972/73
Saturday, 8 September 2007
It is only since finding my family that everything in my life fell into place. You hear people say ‘the light went on’; it was floodlights in my case. Although I have an understanding now of why certain things happened, it isn’t easy sharing events with a key board.
It didn’t hurt and I’m not sure I can explain it. The smell, it stung my nose and eyes but no, it didn’t hurt. 1972/73 or there about. My adoptive mum was dying my hair over the bath. I was excited at first, it seemed so grown up. My hair was going to be the same colour as my sisters. My ‘sister’ is their natural daughter; she is eighteen months older than I am. I say sister, and I always will. Don’t ask me why I don’t think of her as my adoptive sister, because that is something I don’t understand myself. I just know in my head and heart she is my sister and I would kill for her.
Everything had been fine; I had sat for what seemed like ever with smelly stuff on my hair. I must have played half a dozen games with my amum and ate at least two packs of biscuits until it was time to wash it off. Amum didn’t want me to get any dye in my eyes so she had dug out a pair of rubber goggles. It was hysterical because I couldn’t hold them on for laughing. They were supposed to go over my head but of course, she wouldn’t have been able to wash my hair if I wore them properly.
I hadn’t noticed my adad come in; I just know something was wrong. My amum wrapped a towel around my head and rushed me into the bedroom. I could hear them arguing but not what they were saying. Mostly I could hear my amum crying or rather screeching. I don’t know how long it went on for it wasn’t long though. I had climbed onto the back of the settee (my favourite spot) and adad was brushing my hair. I just remember my amum ripping the brush out of his hand and literally screaming that I had done it on purpose. Done what?
It didn’t make sense; my amum was saying I was doing it to annoy her. Doing what? She was crying and shaking asking me why? I must have got scared or something because I know my adad picked me up and took me out in the car. It wasn’t long after that my amum got poorly (that’s what I was told) and had to stay in hospital for a bit.
The dye incident was never an issue, in fact over the years we often laughed about it. I never asked why it happened or what it was all about. I hadn’t given that day a thought for at least fifteen years. In 2005, I opened my front door and there was my real family. I was seeing them for the first time. If you had put me in a room with a thousand people and told, someone to pick what family I belonged to they would have pointed to my real family. There was no mistaking it. I was not only my mum’s double but also my two sisters were the living image of me. My hair dye jumped into my head like an electric shock (I’m dramatic I know ha-ha) but that’s how it was. It all made sense. I had up until the age of seven had blue eyes and blonde hair just like my afamily. My eyes changed to green and my hair is almost black.
My amum didn’t want anyone to know I was adopted. People often used to make jokes about my hair. Was I the milkman’s was the usual question? My adad just used to laugh but looking back my amum would end up having one of her funny turns (that’s what we used to call moods). I have worked through it in my head now. I think she felt everything she had done to get me was for nothing if people found out I wasn’t theirs. When she was having her breakdowns, she had decided in her head that I was changing deliberately to spite her.
Any one reading this will automatically think what a horrible person, because I know I would think that just reading it. She wasn’t a horrible person; she was just a scared woman with mental health issues.
It didn’t hurt and I’m not sure I can explain it. The smell, it stung my nose and eyes but no, it didn’t hurt. 1972/73 or there about. My adoptive mum was dying my hair over the bath. I was excited at first, it seemed so grown up. My hair was going to be the same colour as my sisters. My ‘sister’ is their natural daughter; she is eighteen months older than I am. I say sister, and I always will. Don’t ask me why I don’t think of her as my adoptive sister, because that is something I don’t understand myself. I just know in my head and heart she is my sister and I would kill for her.
Everything had been fine; I had sat for what seemed like ever with smelly stuff on my hair. I must have played half a dozen games with my amum and ate at least two packs of biscuits until it was time to wash it off. Amum didn’t want me to get any dye in my eyes so she had dug out a pair of rubber goggles. It was hysterical because I couldn’t hold them on for laughing. They were supposed to go over my head but of course, she wouldn’t have been able to wash my hair if I wore them properly.
I hadn’t noticed my adad come in; I just know something was wrong. My amum wrapped a towel around my head and rushed me into the bedroom. I could hear them arguing but not what they were saying. Mostly I could hear my amum crying or rather screeching. I don’t know how long it went on for it wasn’t long though. I had climbed onto the back of the settee (my favourite spot) and adad was brushing my hair. I just remember my amum ripping the brush out of his hand and literally screaming that I had done it on purpose. Done what?
It didn’t make sense; my amum was saying I was doing it to annoy her. Doing what? She was crying and shaking asking me why? I must have got scared or something because I know my adad picked me up and took me out in the car. It wasn’t long after that my amum got poorly (that’s what I was told) and had to stay in hospital for a bit.
The dye incident was never an issue, in fact over the years we often laughed about it. I never asked why it happened or what it was all about. I hadn’t given that day a thought for at least fifteen years. In 2005, I opened my front door and there was my real family. I was seeing them for the first time. If you had put me in a room with a thousand people and told, someone to pick what family I belonged to they would have pointed to my real family. There was no mistaking it. I was not only my mum’s double but also my two sisters were the living image of me. My hair dye jumped into my head like an electric shock (I’m dramatic I know ha-ha) but that’s how it was. It all made sense. I had up until the age of seven had blue eyes and blonde hair just like my afamily. My eyes changed to green and my hair is almost black.
My amum didn’t want anyone to know I was adopted. People often used to make jokes about my hair. Was I the milkman’s was the usual question? My adad just used to laugh but looking back my amum would end up having one of her funny turns (that’s what we used to call moods). I have worked through it in my head now. I think she felt everything she had done to get me was for nothing if people found out I wasn’t theirs. When she was having her breakdowns, she had decided in her head that I was changing deliberately to spite her.
Any one reading this will automatically think what a horrible person, because I know I would think that just reading it. She wasn’t a horrible person; she was just a scared woman with mental health issues.
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