Where It All Began: Chronicles of a Hairdresser

This is a story about the event that steered my life path. It’s a story about success, defeat, victory, loss, and beating the odds. Everyone has a time in their life when everything changes. When it feels like the earth has shifted off the polar axis and is now spinning uncontrollably in space. You can never go back to the way things were. This happened to me in October of 1992. I was 16 and in grade 11. This event is where it all began: chronicles of a hairdresser.

Where It All Began In the Middle of Midland

My story begins in Midland, New Brunswick in 1976. The middle daughter of three, middle class income. Midland, in the middle of nowhere special. It’s special to me though. I would discover in my middle age Midland is exactly what David was writing about in the 23^rd Psalm. Green pastures, grazing cows, Midland Brook winding it’s way around the valley. Delivering a cool drink to the livestock and farmers on a hot summer day. Taking a breath of air in Midland heals the weakest person and makes them whole again.

We were a regular family of five. Mom stayed home to raise us girls while Dad worked at the Potash mines as an industrial electrician. We had two cars, a three-bedroom home, and a satellite dish. Spoiled with a travel trailer, and camping for weeks at the lake in summer.

My father had been orphaned by the time he was twelve. He was intentional to teach his daughters to be independent. Saying things like, “I won’t be around forever to look after you. You need to learn to fend for yourself.” I was keen to be independent until I needed to do the fending for myself. We all need these traits to be successful in life. It’s lessons such as these that give me the stories to write chronicles of a hairdresser.

An example of fending for myself is when a boy in my grade 2 class stole my pencil. Quite upset about this ordeal, I went home and consulted my father. I knew he would rip that little kid to pieces. Instead, he told me I had to confront the little runt of a kid and take back what was mine. After a sleepless night and a few tears that’s exactly what I did before recess the next day. Little did I know these lessons would shape my character from a soft little girl, to a “getting things done”, kind of woman. My chronicles of a hairdresser would need an attitude like this.

School taught me to read, write, and arithmetic, but it was my father who would teach me life skills. My trained eye can spot a deer anywhere. I learned to pull and strip wire, hook up light switches and plugs, and be comfortable on a construction site. He paid fifty dollars a day for my labour. I was twelve. This act alone taught me self worth. Years later I would be grateful for these lessons. Some employers try to take advantage of a young woman and cheap labour. By this time Mom went to work and I kept the house running. Lighting a fire in the morning, and packing lunches. Keeping the house clean, and making sure supper was on the table at 5:30 every night. I was happy to have so much responsibility and had the approval from my father as he called me, “a good little woman.”

Having Each others Backs

As my school mates and I grew to be teenagers, it became apparent that we no longer needed to be parented. The school kid drama got more complicated. We thought our parents would bury us if they found out what we were up to. If we had an issue with a teacher, we would consult each other and deal with it ourselves. If said teacher was the vice principal, same thing. Deal on your own. If we needed a drive home after school, we’d find one ourselves. Needed a job? No worries, someone at school knew who to call.

One of the girls in my class shared with us that her doctor asked her mom to leave the room during an appointment. That’s how she got free birth control. All the girls made appointments with their doctors to get free birth control whether they were sexually active or not. We were an independent bunch of kids raising each other. Those 60 students had gone to school with each other since the age of five. We were tight knit, and had each others backs.

The Phone Call

One October night after our weekly Friday night grocery run, my mother received a phone call from my older sister.  She told us to urgently make our way into the hospital as our father had taken a spell of some sort. The drive in was foggy, and what should have been a forty-minute drive was over an hour. Dad had taken several spells like this before, and he was always fine after a few days of rest. The doctor’s ran all the tests and had concluded that his issues were neurological. All in his head, and that he should live life normally. I was confident in my father’s strength.

Chronicles of a Hairdresser

We walked into the emergency room nonchalantly. My mother, myself, and my little blonde headed sister. Mom told the head nurse my fathers name and asked to see her husband who had been admitted earlier.  The nurse looked at us confused and said, “He’s dead. Nobody told you?” I stopped breathing and suddenly felt like I had just died too. He didn’t appear dead laying on the stretcher other than he wasn’t breathing. His skates were still on his feet. He had a massive heart attack while playing hockey, and his entire hockey team were in the waiting area. They found out about his death the same time we did.

I went back to school the following Wednesday. My little sister and I decided that we needed to do something routine. We had to get that first-day-back over with. The school bus was always bustling first thing in the morning. This day, the bus went silent as we stepped on. It wasn’t until the next stop that the kids started speaking to each other again. They were empathetic and showing us respect in their way. I was afraid the kids would do the same thing when I walked into school.

Counting on School Mates for a Smile

In those days the kids gathered in the lobby or smoking area waiting for the first bell. What I really wanted was to go unnoticed, but that didn’t happen. Silence as I walked to meet my friends on the bench. I had been crying for four days straight, so I’m certain my face was puffy. I was so thankful to my friend Jason who broke the silence with, “You look like hell.” That memory still makes me laugh. It was the perfect way to break the ice. He got flack from my other friends, but it was the best part of going back to school. I don’t think I ever thanked him.

I had a French quiz that first day back to school. The quiz was on past tense verbs. It should have been easy as I had been studying French for several years. Five minutes later, looking at a blank page, I was not finding the answers. Then it started to happen, the tears. When my teacher saw that I hadn’t written anything down he quietly said, “it’s ok, Shana.” Our teachers kept a close eye on my sister and I. I’m positive we became subject of conversation in the teachers lounge. I was somewhat relieved when another kid at school lost his father a month later. The attention was off me, and I could blend in with the other kids again.

Coming back to the living

Science hadn’t discovered the effects of trauma on the developing brain in 1992. My attention span got shorter. Resting my head on my desk from fatigue, it required reading a paragraph more than three times to comprehend. During this time, this new life, I would suffer from recurring nightmares, chronic fatigue, depression, weight loss, anxiety, and insomnia. I never wanted to hurt myself, but I didn’t want to live either. It wasn’t until my mother had been inspired by the movie, Shawshank Redemption, that she said, “Shana, get busy living, or get busy dying.” That was a sure sign I needed to come back to the living.

By this time, it was 1994 graduation year. It’s still interesting to think of the ambitions of my school mates. When they “grew up” they wanted to have careers such as veterinary, pharmacist, beach bum, respiratory therapist. Some friends weren’t sure what to do beyond high school, but they were already enrolled in university or college. The teachers did their best to inspire our young rural minds to do great things. Some of those kids became quite successful in life in the years to come. I was terribly artistic. Loving the stage, drama, music, and all the things that your parents think of as hobbies. Knowing I didn’t have the acting skills to make the movies, but I always had a good eye for production. I figured I could make my way in Toronto as a producer someday.

The First Steps Toward the Rest of the Story

 Still reeling from my emotional wounds, I couldn’t comprehend and follow a textbook anymore. I had applied to several programs in community college. It was very competitive not having the grades to get in. School work took a downward shift after the death of my father. Colleges look at your grade eleven transcript to determine if you can handle the course load. I was screwed. That one major event that traumatized me and affected my grades would be the obstacle in furthering my education. Community college was out. I had applied to take sciences at the university and was accepted. Nothing short of a miracle had happened. As I read the acceptance letter I knew in my heart of hearts that I’d never be able to handle those classes. I still couldn’t read and understand a short story.

Mapping out Futures

My friends were all choosing career paths and mapping out their futures. I was working weekends at the local chicken barn gathering eggs trying to pay for a prom dress and grad pictures. The household income also took a downward shift, and if I wanted to have clothes, school supplies, and shoes I would have to pay for these myself. I inherited a car to get to work, but the rest I had to come up with myself.

Grad year is busy for parents, fundraising, and planning events. There was a meeting for all the grads and parents to plan grad month. I was the only student without a parent at that meeting. My parent was out retraining to have a career so she could move on in life.  I was part parent and part student. This never hurt me though. All this did was remind me of my inner strength. I was becoming more independent. I ate what I wanted when I wanted, went places without asking, bought the shoes, the skis, and clothes. Grown up and trying to live, just as my mother had taught me.

First Chronicle of A Hairdresser

As sad as I was, it came time to make an announcement of what career I would take on. I told my mother in the car that I wanted to be a hairdresser. I explained that I couldn’t concentrate on books, but my hands still worked. Hairdressing can’t be that hard as far as a textbook goes. It’s mostly hands-on. I can make a living until I decide it’s time to go to university. “Don’t worry, Mom, I won’t be a hairdresser forever. I’ll do it for a few years and then move on,” I had promised. She cried.

I would go on to be a hairdresser for the next 25 years. At the age of thirty I remembered my promise to my mother and applied to university to study Bachelor of Business Administration. I was declined to take the degree program due to my grades in grade eleven and twelve. Trying to persuade the administration to change the no to a yes, I phoned them to explain my situation in high school. Indeed, my grades weren’t the best twelve years prior, but I was quite bright and could handle any math thrown at me. They agreed to admit me to the certificate program and that was the best they could do.

Leading up to becoming a Hairdresser

I thought I would go to school full time if I was studying for a degree. but now that I was studying for a certificate, I decided to keep my day job. Paying out of pocket each class and working full time while studying took a long time to complete the program. When It was finished six years later I decided that university was way overrated. I hadn’t met any single men my age, and now that I was as smart as anyone else that finished university, I had proven to myself that I was my only obstacle.

Years later when trying to acquire jobs in business, I would be declined for not having enough education. I’ve grown my business behind the chair, built my own advertising, created my own marketing, had experience with budgeting, forecasting, file management, inventories, the list goes on. Of course, I don’t have a course in Microsoft Word. I have experience with it since it came out. Remember, I pre-date computers, I grew up with Microsoft. I learned that from experience too.

The People who Believed in Me as a Hairdresser

I am so thankful for my family, the hiring managers, loan officers, and respect from my many clients who saw me as much more than I saw myself. They are the people who lifted me up and encouraged me to keep going. Achieving more than I thought was ever possible. They are the believers! They believed in me to be successful.

As many times I’ve been down, there have been just as many ups. I will always have the obstacles that my grade eleven year produced. Those transcripts don’t rewrite themselves. There won’t be another person on the planet who will pull me down. I hold the key to my own success. There will always be life events that create obstacles to success. It can’t be what defines your future. Find ways to defeat the the odds, and turn no’s into yeses. This makes me laugh while contemplating that I may literally need to build a lemonade stand. I have been unemployed since following my husbands career to a new province.

The best part of my struggles finding a career path is that I have many stories, great funny stories. I like to call them, Chronicles of a Hairdresser.

Thank you for reading this excerpt. Feel free to like and share. Don’t forget to subscribe to my blog.

Check out other stories from Chronicles of a Hairdresser on Joy of Lemons by clicking the link below.

A Calling to the Path and Job Title, Hairdresser – Joy of Lemons: Where It All Began: Chronicles of a Hairdresser

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