A Kinky Epiphany

I have a kink in my hair that refuses to go away.  It’s a double-rippled cowlick that starts at my left temple and stops somewhere near my ear. 

This kink has been with me for as long as I can remember.   In high school and college, I hovered in front of the mirror for hours with my girlfriends.  They tried home remedies for getting rid of the kink, which involved everything from pinking shears to dog shampoo.  As those same girls and I grew into women over the years, we would find ourselves right back in front of the mirror waging the never-ending war on the kink.  While we prepared for our graduations, job interviews, weddings and school reunions, we tried blow-drying the kink out.  We sampled dozens of styling products that promised results beyond what they really delivered.  We even sought professional help in salons, all to no avail.  It’s rather strange how the rest of my head of hair can be tamed into submission, but not this one kink.   It is persistence embodied.

A short while ago, I traveled out of town to visit my friend Kat.  We decided to try a posh new restaurant for dinner, so a little bit of primping was in order.  I spied her pricey new flat iron and I begged to give it a try.  I plugged it in and four hundred degrees later, my kink was gone!  I floated around Kat’s house with a huge grin on my face.  Life was good – I had just achieved hair nirvana.  Before we stepped out the door for the evening, I ran back to her bathroom mirror to bask in the reflection of my kink-free hair one more time.

To my great horror, the kink had already returned.  I immediately plugged Kat’s iron back in and got ready for round two of frying my locks.

“Put the flat iron down and step away from the mirror,” Kat said to me in a very serious tone of voice.  I thought for a moment that she was going to recite my Miranda rights next.

“Let me iron the kink out just one more time,” I begged.  “It will only take a second.”

She glared at me and unplugged the iron from the wall.  “No,” she said firmly.  “You’re done.  Time to quit.”

“It’s not fair!” I whined.  “Everyone else can iron out all of their kinks and get perfect-looking hair.  Why not me?”

“Because you’re not meant to look like everyone else.  You’re meant to look like you.  I love your hair, just the way it is.”

I’ll never forget that evening.  I officially surrendered to the kink.  But more importantly, I recognized how precious it is to have people in my life that accept me for who I am.  I am grateful for those who love every part of me; those who find my uniqueness endearing, and who embrace all my kinks instead of trying to rid me of them.

What’s your “kink” that makes you different?  Do your loved ones embrace it as well?