Contemplating those old school pictures and my creativity with my hair, I must tell you this little story. In 2nd grade, again in a cute little number sewn by the madre, I headed off to school with a headful of Shirley Temple banana curls. My mom was a beautician and had painstakingly rolled up my hair the night before --does anyone remember those pink spongy baby curlers with a plastic clip--so I would look all adorable. And I did. Cute as a little curly-headed dumpling. We were all standing in line in the hallway, waiting for our turn to be called into the little room to get our picture taken. I started to get impatient. Those curls kept falling into my eyes, and they were driving me CRAZY. I pushed them out of my eyes one final time, and then I took a big plastic yellow barrette out of my pocket--why did I have it--and shoved it smack dab into the middle of my forehead. Ah, finally relief! With that, my name was called, and I happily sat down and got snapped.
My mom, of course, had no idea of this transpiring. That is, until a month later when we got our little packets of pictures, and I took them home. Listen, my mom was not happy to say the least (she laughs now)! Oh well, I always have been a little impulsive--with hair and otherwise. (-;