The Day of the Jackhole

The Day of the Jackhole

Celebrating 40 years on this earth

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1978. Toothless. This is how I roll.

October 29, 2011

I am powerless. And missing a front tooth. It’s the day of school photos and for some reason, my Nan is doing my hair and my Mum is not there. Where is she? I am wriggling and squirming and generally being a grumpy jackhole because my Nan is trying to put hot rollers in my hair. And I don’t want them.

“It will look lovely with curls. Haven’t you always wanted to have curly hair?”

I most certainly have not. And I don’t understand this obsession people have with curls. Always running their hands at the back of your head trying to curl it up with their eager fingers. My hair is flat and straight and plain and dull and grumpy, just like me.

I sit in the chair and squirm and wince when the hot rollers touch my neck. I want to cry. I don’t want curly hair for my school photo.

“Oh, come on. It will be lovely.”

I am powerless.

And missing a front tooth.

My hair does not curl successfully, and falls limply as she unwinds those hot little pointy pellets that are pinned in my mane.

There’s a word for how I feel that this hair has rebelled and settled on a defiant wave.

That word is PROUD.


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