The Surprising Significance of Shampoo

The Nana weaving her infamous braids in 1995.

I have countless memories of my Nana combing through my hair when I was younger. I was so proud of my long, thick hair but couldn’t do a thing with it except plop a bow on it – and Nana would spend hours braiding it, brushing it out and re-braiding it again. 

It’s been over 15 years since Nana last braided my hair, and although we don’t rarely talk about it, I know we both remember those moments so well. This is why the moment we shared a few weeks ago shook me so.

I came back from a jog to find my grandpa with a comb in one hand and a half bottle of detangler in the other, staring at the back of Nana’s head. She was clearly irritated with him at this point, and he looked defeated. While Nan loved her long hair, she had lost her ability to maintain it as she pushed into her mid-80's and relied on Gee to help her. 

Gee gave me a pleading look, so I silently switched spots with him to find he had left Nan's hair in a knotty mess. Knowing I could never comb through it, I suggested I wash and deep condition her hair for her instead.

I could almost hear the silence as she turned slowly to look at me.

“I’m not going to let my 28-year-old granddaughter wash my hair. I’m not decrepit, for goodness sake.”

I downplayed it. “Nan, it’s not that big of a deal. I can put on my swimsuit, give your hair a good wash and do a fancy ol' salon-like conditioning treatment. It's reallllyyy not a big deal, and it’ll be fun. I promise.”

And it was, initially. Much of it seemed like a scene from a sitcom: 20-something girl in a one-piece bathing suit laughs, sprays water and slides back and forth across a nearly-flooded bathroom while her grandmother shakes her head disapprovingly.

But I felt an entirely different emotion 2 hours later. As I handed her the mirror to check out the new haircut I had also given her, I saw tears begin to swell in her eyes. She quietly said, “This is the best Christmas present anyone could have given me.” 

That was the kicker: these seemingly forgettable series of events happened on Christmas Day. So many of my Christmas memories have melted into a mishmash of loud family gatherings, opening presents and sneaking our dog leftovers under the table. This Christmas memory will never be like those. At its core (and maybe to anyone who reads this), it was just a collection of minutes spent telling stories while washing my grandmother's hair. But it was something beyond that… it was the moment I saw the tables turn. It was chance to love my grandmother in a way she had always unconditionally loved me but I never could truly reciprocate. To take care of her in a way a mother reserves for their daughter, but never wants her daughter to have the responsibility of doing the same for her elderly mother.

Maybe this is why she fought me on my initial offer to help because she knew this emotionally altering realization was on the precipice of occurring. Or, maybe she didn't want her hair done by someone 56 years younger than her because she's stubborn… I mean, I obviously get it from somewhere.

I didn’t let it show in that moment, but all those mornings she spent braiding my hair came rushing back to me and it brought a tear to my eye, too.

***

As an update, I returned to Florida 3.5 weeks later to celebrate Nana’s 85th birthday by spending the day at a proper hair salon. Together, we made the decision to cut off the “youthful” hair she so desperately wanted to keep. Her response as the hairdresser turned her around? "Well, I look like a lady in her 60's now! I guess I have a few more good years left in me after all!" 

A series of seemingly insignificant events led us to that pivotal realization for us both... and in the moment, I would not have guessed the weight of each of those events. 

And just like that, life gently reminded me to never dismiss the impact of the quieter moments.