Patricia Wood, OH
Patricia is a former high school English teacher/lyrical gangster turned stay-at-home mom with a Masters in Literature from Slippery Rock University. As the co-founder of the I Remember Committee, she worked with students to raise funds for and increase awareness of atrocities such as the Holocaust and other genocides/human rights situations for those in her community. Published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Inspiration for Teachers as well as online platforms such as HerViewFromHome, BluntMoms, and ESME, Patricia loves to explore the stories of her life and those around her using the written word.
As a Story Terrace writer, Patricia interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know her better by reading her autobiographical anecdote below.
Now That’s a Ponytail
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I thought to myself as I ran my hand over the top of my head. “He’s nearly 22 years old and he can’t even get rid of these bumps?” I sighed and turned to look at my older brother. He was in charge of helping me get ready for kindergarten, and his hairdressing skills were seriously below par.
“I want a high ponytail, like about here,” I motioned to the spot I wanted it on the top of my head, “and I don’t want any of these bumps in it. Can you please try again?” He just looked at me with what I suppose was a look of shock, annoyance, all of the above? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that my ponytail was in some serious need of attention, as it was wispy and droopy and most definitely less than smooth. Everything else about my outfit was spot on. Pink and blue plaid skirt? Check. Favorite t-shirt with adorable cartoon kitties on it? Check. A pink necklace attached to a blue necklace to make a really long and awesome fashion accessory? Check. I just needed my hair done and I’d be good to go for an afternoon of kindergarten.
As we stood there in front of the bathroom mirror, he towered behind me while firmly and slowly pulling the brush through my brown locks. I studied his face in the mirror while simultaneously inspecting each stroke for any remnants of bumps which might remain. “Did you know you have a large blue vein that bulges out of your temple?” I asked him, trying to make polite conversation. His eyes shot up and met mine in the mirror. “Yeah,” was his curt reply.
“Sheesh, not much better at conversation than you are at hair,” I thought. I knew better than to say it given his clearly agitated state. I could feel the band wrapping around the strands collected higher up on my head this time: once, twice, three times. He tried to go for a fourth, but it was too tight. A tight ponytail truly is a fine work of art. He stood there behind me while I inspected this newest attempt in the mirror. Left side smooth. Right side smooth. No large lumps below, and smooth and sleek on top.
“Now that’s a ponytail, big brother!” I said giving him a cheesy grin and double thumbs up.
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