Are You There God? It's Me, Debbie.

When I was four years old I had shoulder length, bang-less hair that my Mom parted down the middle and then generally put into two pigtails. I could often be found donning red ribbon she got from the fabric store tied at the top of each one. I suppose I have always been one to make mild attempts to dance to the beat of my own drum, and even at four I was desperate for a little rebellion. One night only days after my fourth birthday, I grabbed the scissors and I chopped off those two long pigtails while they were comfortably held in place atop either side of my head by rubber bands. Mom and Dad were watching tv as they did most evenings (I’m guessing it was ‘60 Minutes’ or ‘All In the Family’), so I decided to walk as quietly down the stairs as I could so as to maximize the dramatic presentation of my new look in the most alarming way I could muster. I saw the backs of their heads and likely had a moment of ‘holy crap, what have I done!’ come upon me as I have so many times since then in my life. But nonetheless, I had chosen this path and by golly I had to go through with the plan. I tiptoed behind the couches they were seated at and leaped before them with as much dramatic flair as I could muster, which, if you know me, you can imagine was probably QUITE a lot. I spread my arms out as wide as I could and confidently yelled, ‘Ta-Da!’ My mother gasped and exclaimed ‘Deborah Ann, what have you done?!’ (My birth name is excellent to say in times of trouble such as this one) I imagine Dad was too stunned to say anything other than the possible, errant curse word, but the disapproval on my mother’s face was all I needed to know that I had really messed up this time. She immediately whisked me down to our unfinished basement and sat me on the ping pong table to get to work. I was scared senseless by this basement, so having to be down there next to the eerie furnace, with the smell of copper pipes and subtle mildew, heightened the terribleness of the situation I had gotten myself into. Mom reminded me that the next day was picture day at my beloved ‘Wise Owl Nursery School.’ (Crap, I hadn’t thought this out as well as I should have!) And then she went to work on my hair with an impressive skill born exactly in that moment out of sheer pissed-offedness mixed with a hefty dose of pride and the desire to not have her daughter look like a complete fool in a photo that would live for at least a couple of generations in the photo albums she didn’t know at the time would one day practically become extinct.

At some point after that my sister, Suzie, (11-years-old and way more of a rule follower than I), came downstairs and repeatedly scolded me with a phrase I have not since forgotten: ‘Mom’s really disgusted with you.’ (I can still picture and hear the way you said that, Suzie, and boy, is it funny now!)

Despite the disgust of my mother and the speechlessness of my father, everything turned out ok and I ended up with one of my most memorable school photos ever…