Hockey and Hairspray
Memories of my talent with my mom's hair, my lack of talent on the ice and my father's love
The numbers on my wood-paneled Panasonic clock radio, counting down to 7:30 a.m., reminded me of a busy train station's departure board. With one tired eye open, I watched each digit click ahead, one minute at a time. I kept the volume low. Tony Orlando and Dawn crooned "Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree," 1973's number one hit.
"Jesus Christ, get up now! It's time for you to blow out Mom's hair. And you have to get to your g-damn hockey game," said Dad.
Mom had applied her Elizabeth Arden Lipstick, Rose Redbud. I don't recall ever seeing my mother without her lips painted.
I sauntered down to my parents' bedroom. Their formal, dainty "fleur de lis" wallpaper created a pretty backdrop for our hair salon session. Mom had laid out her brushes and hair clips. At 14, I loved looking at myself a lot, especially sitting at Mom's dresser. How different did I look today? Did my crotch feel any bigger? I ran my fingers through my thick mop of hair.
Mom had applied her Elizabeth Arden Lipstick, Rose Redbud. I don't recall ever seeing my mother without her lips painted. She kept her well-organized dresser covered with doilies topped by a perfume bottle collection, each tagged with a little spray tassel. Stage left, her gorgeous black and white 1951 wedding picture in a gilded, well-polished picture frame dominated the presentation. My brother, my sister and my own 1"x 2" school photos tucked into its corners rounded out a picture-perfect family.
A Beautiful Routine
Mom joined me, her hair wrapped in a towel. Reaching down, she touched my hand and assured me I would make her look like the best hockey mom. Her hand felt like velvet.
In no time, Mom's hair blossomed like a rose. Like mine, her thick, nutmeg-brown locks glowed with the light shimmering in from the morning sun. "Joanie's" long hair had first caught Dad's attention at their Montreal high school skating rink 35 years earlier.
"She turned and smiled. I have never taken my eyes off her since," he said.
I loved rolling up her hair in the thick three-inch brush, holding the Conair "deluxe" blow dryer and creating a perfect curl. She made me feel like Vidal Sassoon. An Elizabeth Taylor look soon emerged. I finished off her newest quaff with some Aqua Net.
In my mind, I had a map of every tube of lipstick, every bottle of cologne and perfume, every piece of jewelry — all necessary for my future and secret experimentations.
The Real Story of Aqua Net
Years later I would later learn that the magic I held in my hands to cement my creation atop Mom's head had first served to protect soldiers during World War II. An aerosol spray developed by the U.S. Department of Agriculture to better distribute insect spray among soldiers and protect them from malaria became the latest "must have" tool of the beauty industry. Voilà – hairspray! From preventing bug bites to holding mile-high beehive hairdos in place.
Mom reached over, lightly touching up her lips and tucked her lipstick back in her upper right-hand dresser drawer. I loved the floral and sweet smell of her makeup. In my mind, I had a map of every tube of lipstick, every bottle of cologne and perfume, every piece of jewelry — all necessary for my future and secret experimentations.
"Are you almost done?" Dad bellowed from the idling car. Time for the outdoor rink.
I hated hockey. I despised my equipment even more. Why did I have to wear hand-me-downs? Bad enough having to wear my brother's clothes and share his bath water, but his hockey equipment, too? The helmet resembled a stormtrooper's. The run in my thick stocking annoyed me to no end. The jockstrap with its oversized cup puzzled me. "Who could possibly fill all of this?"
Finally Off the Ice
At the game, wobbling on my skates, I scoured the stands looking for Mom and Dad. Dad sat cheering on the sidelines. Mom waved and smiled with her ruby red lips and the best-looking hair in the rickety wooden-seat hockey palace. Dad stared, too — admiring her hair, just like he always had.
"Come on, son. Focus on the puck!"
My short-lived hockey career ended with a knee injury. I over-exaggerated the pain. It got me off the ice. Dad still insisted I dolly-up Mom for every occasion. I am convinced if I had my genotype sequenced lipstick would be found coiling through my DNA. My love of makeup and hair never wavered.
Revealing a 'Clue'
In February 2016, 43 years later, Dad at 86, agreed to join Steve, my husband, and me in South Beach. It was his first time returning to Florida since Mom passed away nine years earlier. Steve would remind me that he wished he had had more time with Mom, too. He adored her.
"Look at those girls - playing hockey on rollerblades." Dad pointed across the street with one hand and in disbelief rubbed his sun-mottled bald head with the other. Six scantily dressed Black, brown and white teenage girls swirled around on the playground's thick pavement, bebopping with their rear ends to the beat of Jennifer Lopez's "Booty" blasting from a nearby boom box.
"We loved you just as much as your brother and sister. But your skill using hairspray may have been a clue."
"Jesus, they could fall out of their tops. Who plays hockey in a bikini?" my dad said.
"Well, George, it beats playing outdoor ice hockey in February in Montreal," Steve replied. I squeezed Steve's hand. His hand felt like Mom's.
"Dad, I need to ask. How early did you and Mom first suspect that I played for the 'other team?'" I said. He just stared and smiled at the rollerbladers.
I continued, "You must have known. No hockey skills to speak of, putting on my sister's pink tutus to go to kindergarten, wearing Mom's waffle weave swim cap with a chinstrap. Come on, Dad, what boy masters the art of blow drying by 14?"
"Let's say you had 'special' qualities. We loved you just as much as your brother and sister," my dad said. "But your skill using hairspray may have been a clue."
