Growing up, our Dad was our very own hairstylist. He had the ‘Page Boy’ look down to a tee long before it became fashionable in the outside world. All seven of us sisters sported the same hairstyle for many years.
That changed for me when I was fifteen years of age and thoroughly modern ‘Gypsy hairstyle’ became all the rage. I loved it and somehow, (no memory of how it came to pass🧐), managed to organise a hair appointment in our town, eight miles away. Returning home afterwards, feeling ultra sophisticated and over the moon, I remember clear as crystal, my dear Dad’s words as I walked in our door: ‘Oh Bridge, you are growing up’. He was plainly doing his utmost to be happy for me but his fragile smile did not quite reach his kind eyes.
I would have given anything at that moment to scurry back to the salon, pick up my cut hair from the floor and stick it back on my head. But that was not an option, no going back and all was good.
Dad was not unhappy or sad beholding my new hairstyle, I know that now. He was doing his best to embrace change. He knew well that nothing lasts forever and time had come to move on.
Reminding me gloriously, that the present moment is all that really matters and if we fill up our days, worrying about what might come to pass, then one day will be our last day and we will not have lived at all. How horrific!!
‘To live is to change. To live well is to change often’. (St. John Henry Newman)
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