locks of love

To tell you the truth, it was a Beyond The Call story that did this to me. I inherited the script about a little girl who joyfully gives away her hair to Locks of Love. Her courage and selflessness touched me.

Several weeks later into the editing process it came again to my attention. I wanted to know more and visited the Locks of Love website. One page was filled with pictures from donors and recipients. Pictures, worth a thousand words, persuaded me to part with my dear possession.

I am one of those people who questions my uniqueness and contribution to the world. It is a question that has plagued me near twenty-two years. People have always commented that my hair is a gift. True, if I ever dwelt positively upon my looks it would start with my hair. That and my eyes are the only things I could be vain about. I needed to prevent that from happening.

My hair was exactly the length I dreamed it would be for my wedding and wedding night. Then it decided to grow like a weed. Just as it was nearly long enough to part with, it decided to get scraggly. Now or never. I called my hair dresser.

Apparently when she changed her name after the divorce, she also changed jobs. So I went to Super Cuts to get my hair off my head before it was no longer suitable to donate. When I walked in, I knew I should walk out.

The two girls were as immature and unprofessional as they come. When it came to cutting hair they had no pride in their work. One, the one cutting my hair, joked about how she would have to be God to remember her customers, and if she did get fired that week, she'd be happy. Fired! What did she do to deserve that?

In the end, my hair was cute. The experience was so traumatic that I was nervous when
Mark came home. He loves it. Once all the attention dies down at work--it is a startling change--I'll be able to enjoy it too.