Locks of Love (Good Karma)

When I turned seven years old, a crazy idea popped into my head. What if I could somehow help people who had cancer? My Grandma had uterine cancer earlier in the year, and seeing what she had to go through made me want to help other people who had cancer. Sometimes I would sit and brainstorm, my tiny little seven year old cogs spinning in my brain. Finally after a few weeks of deep thought, I came up with an idea. Lots of people who had cancer ended up with no hair, they were hurting internally, and their pride was hurt on top of everything else. What if people with cancer got wigs? That might help their self esteem! I told my mom about my brilliant idea, what if people with long hair (like myself) cut it, and donated it? Then a manufacturing company could turn it into wigs, and finally they could give it to the needy patients with cancer, free of charge. My mom just laughed, "Beth, they already have that program. It's called "Locks of Love." I was a little down cast from having my brilliant idea already be taken, but I was excited that people were already giving up something they loved for people they loved. After finding out that a program was already in progress I told my mom that I wanted to donate my hair. She was rather surprised, as if she didn't expect her little seven year old to be so grown up already. My mom reminded me that to donate my hair, I would have to give away at least ten inches. That didn't really sink into my brain, I wanted to donate my hair. For two years I grew my hair out, to the point where I would not be offended if people started calling me Rapunzel. When I was nine years old, felt like I was ready. Secretly my mom was worried that I would be cutting off more than twelve inches of my hair. Stubbornly I had refused to get my hair cut those two years, how could I be so selfish to cut my hair when people needed it? Little did I understand that I had four inches of split ends would not be sufficient for people who needed hair. I was driven to an old man's house, clear in Ogden. The ten minute drive seemed much too long. When my mom walked me up to the house and read the sign that said, "walk-ins" I knew that this was serious business. We walked in to a small parlor, everything around seemed to be made of wood. There were vertical wood panels running along the walls. On the walls, there were pictures with all sorts of old fashion criminals on them. "Wanted, Jesse James: Reward 2,000 dollars." "Wanted Billy the Kid: Reward $500" It was a little surprising to see all the faded yellow wanted posters on the wall, it was quite a collection. There was a tall old man standing in front of me, he must've been at least 6"5. He told me to sit in his huge black chair, which he had to lower all the way to the floor. Quietly he talked to my mom so that I could not hear him. He told her that my hair was extremely damaged, and that if I had any chance of being able to donate my hair that day, I would have to have a bob. My mom worriedly told me that my hair would be up around my ears. Knowing how short that was, I was a little disappointed, but I never faltered. I had waited two years for this, and I didn't need my hair as some poor soul with cancer. There was no way in the world that I was going to back out now, I was doing this. So yes, all through fourth grade I had a bob. My hair was nearly as short as a boy's! Nowadays it would be considered the same length as a boys. Still, I hated my hair cut, but I loved the feeling that I felt from giving up my hair to the needy.

My mom was so impressed with me, that she decided to grow out her hair. Somehow in my family, it takes a really long time to grow out our hair. From the time I was nine, to just yesterday now that I'm fifteen, my mom grew out her hair. Yes, my mom cut her hair and donated it yesterday, and let me tell you, I was really proud. Her hair isn't quite a bob, but it was the thought that counted. The old man who had cut my hair earlier was the same one to cut my mom's hair. He questioned her about me and asked her questions like, "How old is she? What school is she going to?" My mom told him that I was currently fifteen years old, and that I would be going to DHS next year. He told my mom that I was just the right age for a job position he had opening. Being a business at home, he didn't have too much business. At least, he didn't have half as much as he would liked to have. He told her that he has hair models in all the major High Schools around D county. My mom listened intently as he told her that his hair model from DHS was graduating this year, and that he needed a new one. Darin asked my mom to bring me in so he could "interview" me for a new job. It turned out that he didn't really need to interview me. There were only a few questions, "Are you involved in school? Do you get good grades? Do you have time for this job?" I answered in the affirmative to all his questions. Darin clapped his hands and said, "Okay, we're set!" So because I started brainstorming at seven years old, I have a job at fifteen years old. What comes around goes around, so be good to those around you!