Hair that Touched the Ground

I was convinced that Grandma Stricklin was magic. She was mysterious and sweet and wonderful and had a PRESENCE about her that made you stop and stare. She had gorgeous silver-white hair with streaks of black in it when I knew her. It was so long that she kept it braided and in a bun all the time. Her youngest daughter would go over on Sunday afternoons and wash and dry her hair and then braid it and put it back in the bun. Like Samson, I believed her power lay in her hair, which is why she never cut it.

I was at her house once that I remember when Pam was washing her hair and fixing it. My great-grandma was sitting in a straight back chair with her hair hanging straight down. It was so long that it not only touched the ground, but lay upon it in a heap. Like Rapunzel, to my 5 year old mind. It was so thick that Pam couldn't braid it all in one big braid, but had to braid it in two or three braids that she wrapped around each other to form the bun at the base of Grandma S's neck.

I remember longing to touch the hair to see if it were real, but I also remember feeling like I wasn't part of the ritual. I was definitely the observer of the containment of her power.

I remember after that wanting desperately to grow my hair out and never cut it. My hair is too curly and frizzy to grow very long, though, and it's very unmanageable once it gets much past my shoulders. I don't have the power to contain.