Belen Altamirano

Mrs.Gardner

English 10 H

23 January 2017

Every Strand Holds A Story And Together They Are Beautiful

Rapunzel Rapunzel, read my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Farewell, and she held out the book and

moved it across the room so everyone could see the pictures, let down your hair.

As a kindergartner there were few things I was an expert in, how to swing on the monkey bars, play

in the toy kitchen, and princess stories. I was as free as my flowing hair with no limits. Rapunzel had

always had a special place in my heart; not only was she a princess, but she was a princess with long golden

hair that led her to discover, as Ariel would say, A whole new world.

My hair opened up a whole new world for me where I was able to meet new people. As I would be

skipping on the sidewalk with my brother, Andy, by my side and my parents behind me, I would be

constantly stopped and asked about my hair. Who wouldn't notice a girl with long brown hair that reached

her knees and transformed into perfect curls at the bottom?

Oh my goodness you have such long hair! Can I touch it, my mother's friends would say as they

reached out to feel my braid, And it's so thick too. What shampoo do you use? I would just giggle shyly

and be filled with happiness. I felt like my hair belonged to Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, every time

someone complimented it.

In Mexico, where my family is from, hair is a sign of beauty. The longer a girl's hair was, the more

beautiful she appeared. Women in Mexico would always have their hair in braids adorned with colorful

ribbons.

As a child I didnt put much thought into what my hair looked like. As long as it was braided I was

good to go, but my father on the other hand, had a different opinion.
 Pass me the gel, he would say with his deep voice every morning in Spanish as I got ready to go

to school. My father wasnt used to braiding my hair, but since my mother went to work earlier he was the

person who got Andy and I ready. I would stand up as straight as a soldier as he sat on the bed brushing my

hair. Once he would finish braiding my hair there would still be quite a few hairs left standing. After all my

hair was my personal weather detector; it reacted accordingly with that day's forecast. His solution was to

use a bunch of gel and smooth out the top of my head so that no hairs were left standing. Every time this

memory comes to mind I cant help but laugh. In pictures it looks like my hair was glued to my head. The

most meaningful part of this is that although my dad didnt know what he was doing, he still tried his best

to make his precious little girl look neat. Since hair symbolized beauty in our culture, he wanted my hair to

look as perfect as possible. Universally hair is also considered a sign of beauty because it is referenced in

many poems and stories like Rapunzel and Her Hair, a poem by Charles Baudelaire.

My hair holds so many stories, lessons, and memories; it reminds me of the feeling of my father

slathering my hair with gel, my mother's gentle hands gliding the comb down my wet hair, Andy running

an electric car across my head as the wheels sucking up hair. It was my own precious storybook. Each stand

holds its own story.

As I entered my teen years, my hair took on many new meanings to me whether they be mentally,

physically, or even scientifically.

I gained a new perspective of my hair. Every strand of hair holds a lesson I have learned in life that

has sculpted me into the person I am today and the knots that were brushed out of my hair represent all the

obstacles I have overcome.

One of the most important parts of that is my mom. Just like she patiently untangled my hair piece

by piece she would also help me when I was struggling and show a different point of view on life which

helped me overcome any challenges that I may find in my path. My hair is a constant reminder of my

mothers love and tender hands that stroked my hair as a fell asleep.
 When I entered middle school my hair had the power to make or break my day. I started caring

what other people thought, I began watching hair tutorials on YouTube, and I started wanting to dye my

hair something my parents were completely against. To them me natural braided hair was beautiful, after

all that was all they had ever known, but to me it was uncool and not like the other girls who would

straighten their hair every morning while I was stuck with my wavy hair.

I wish I had straight hair, I one day complained to my mother as I set my backpack down in the

living room.

Why would you want to change something you are so blessed to have? replied my mother, We

must always be thankful for all the blessings God gives us in life because there are people who would wish

to have what we have. Not only did her reply open my eyes and shine light on my hair, but she also

reminded me of another story my hair possessed on the reason I had decided to cut my hair for the first

time.

A little girl I had seen on TV with no hair popped into my head. Cancer. Just that one word made

me regret wanting to ever change my hair. I had learned a new lesson; I learned to be happy with who I was

and be thankful for all the blessings in life. I remember sitting in the salon chair as the hair stylist held a

ruler up to it to measure the ten inches needed to donate my hair. At this age my hair reached my knees.

Am I ready to let go of my hair? How would I look without my hair up to my knees? Would

people stop thinking I was pretty? A million questions ran through my young mind. Before I had

completely processed what was happening I saw the stylist standing in front of me with my hair in not one

but two sections, You have so much hair that it will be enough for two wigs and give two girls their hair

again. After I got my haircut I felt like a completely transformed person. As Coco Chanel said,

A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.

Now that Im older I realize that that was probably the most important hair cut of my life because

my hair was able to give two girls battling cancer some confidence back. This is one of the many lessons

and stories my hair has given me on my journey through life.

 I remember looking at the Guinness World Records book at the lady with the longest hair and

thinking to myself how many children she could help if she ever donated her hair. I now had a new

perspective on how important my hair was and I was much more thankful for it.

As I grew older I realized my hair played a bigger role in my identity than I thought. Although I

had a lot of hair like my moms side of the family, my hair color was nothing like the black and very dark

brown hair my brother, parents, and grandparents have, instead I have light brown hair. It wasnt until I

traveled to Mexico that I discovered where my hair color came from; two of my great grandmother's, Belen

(whom I was named after) and Aurora (like Sleeping Beauty), also had light brown hair. The color of my

hair had not occurred in my family since my great grandmothers who now have white hair. My hair is a

bridge between my ancestors and I.

I grew more and more curious about my hair so I turned to the one place where I could almost 99%

of the time find an answer to my questions. Google. According to Merriam-Webster hair is, a slender

threadlike outgrowth of the epidermis of an animal; especially : one of the usually pigmented filaments

that form the characteristic coat of a mammal. Although this was informative it wasnt quite what I was

looking for. I wasnt satisfied so I search even further until I found something that caught my eye. It was a

simple question asking if there was DNA in hair. Mrs. Holly, my biology teacher had explained that DNA

carried genetic information. According to biology.arizona.edu, The hair follicle at the base of human hairs

contains cellular material rich in DNA. Just like how every strand of hair represents a story, or a lesson I

have learned in life it also carries a blueprint of who I am and where I come from. That is so powerful

because it reminds me of the quote Never judge a book by its cover. There is much more than what meets

the eye when it comes to hair.

Who would have thought that my father, the man who values hair and its beauty so much, would

end up shaving his head bald? Who would have imagined that my hair color had hidden for two generations

and appeared again when I was born. In a way my hair is a reflection of my life. Every strand in my head

holds a story and every knot that was brushed out represents an obstacle I overcame. My stories are far
from over but just like Rapunzels beautiful hair held the power to change her destiny and open up a new

world to her, I cant wait to see what life has instore for me; after all each strand holds a story and together

they flow together to reveal a beautiful journey.