Martin King, author of Jack Hunter - Secret of the King, had a cool idea. For the month of August, authors from around the world are participating in his #100blogfest (which you can follow on Twitter). The idea is simple: Martin will visit the sites of 100 authors to post 100 different blogs, all in 31 days! No kidding! Join hordes of international readers and authors on this fun blog hop.
All of the 100 posts are based on childhood memories. Martin King has been very busy writing these many blog posts, but quite a few authors volunteered to help lighten Martin's load by writing a post of their own childhood memory. Lucky you (or perhaps not...), I will be one such author.
The childhood memory I chose to share?
The Dreaded Bowl Cut
Ah, the bowl cut. For any of you that don't know, a bowl cut was a style of hair cut in the 1970's. The idea was this: mothers would first take a bowl, turn it upside-down and fit it onto their child's head. Then they would cut off any and all hair they could see sticking out beyond the rim of the bowl. And that was it. Lift off the bowl and behold: the most horrendous haircut imaginable had been obtained in record time.
Yes, I was a recipient of the dreaded bowl cut.
When I was in first grade, my mother, with her eye on efficiency, economy and--she believed--fashion, called me into the kitchen. In my youth and innocence, I trotted to her side immediately. Ah, I was so naïve. When her dirty deed was done, I skipped to the bathroom to have a look at my newly trimmed locks. I was crackling with excitement.
The image that gaped back at me, however, was nothing like what I had expected. I resembled--and not in a good way--a runt member of the Brady Bunch. My eyes, beneath a bulbously round bob of hair, filled with tears. My mother, I figured, had tricked me, and I vowed never to speak to her again.
Of course, the vow of silence didn't last too long. Once dinner rolled around and I accidently asked her to pass the mashed potatoes, I realized the gig was up. Grudgingly, I resumed speaking to her once more. It reminds me a little of the time when I was about the same age; I was again furious with her (almost certainly over nothing), and I ran away. I packed my bag and headed out into the world. The only catch was that I was never allowed to stray too far from home, so I simply walked round and round the block, unable to go any further. Then when dinner time rolled around, I hopped inside at the promise of good food; another mission forgotten. But I digress...
"Don't worry," my mother assured me when she saw my distress over the new haircut. "The other kids will love it. It's fine." But was it, Mother? Was it fine? I would sometimes imagine that my mother used me for conducting sick little sociological experiments. It seemed the only feasible explanation.
At recess the next day, I was approached by two boys. They were both a few grades older than me, and even though they were icky, dirty boys, they were both pretty cute. Maybe my mom was right, I thought, my heart racing. Maybe this really is a fine haircut. I had lost my shiny, long hair for a shorter, more masculine bob--but she did say the cut framed my face nicely.
"Hey Kid," the taller one said. "We were just wondering. Are you a boy or a girl?"
I was mortified. I couldn't help the tears that flowed.
As I turned to flee, I could hear the second boy speak behind me. "Uh-huh," he drawled, noting my reaction. "That's definitely a girl."
These blogs are all about fun and sharing. Thank you for reading a '#100blogfest' blog. Please follow this link to find the next blog in the series: http://martinkingauthor.com/blog/7094550076