Yes, that's me--the pathetic, little bald-headed toddler. I look like a refugee. My brother is in the background with his thick head of hair.
My mother had glorious hair. All her siblings had the same amazing hair--and her parents, my grandparents, did, too. Because my grandparents did things as they would have back in the "old country," when my mother worried about my thin, fine hair my grandparents told her to shave my head. They believed that would solve the problem. They insisted it would grow in full and lush afterward.
My head was shaved. My hair grew in--and it was okay, but it was never as thick as my mother's hair--or anyone else's hair on that side of the family. Evidently, I took after Dad's side of the family. Such is life. The genetic toss of the dice.
Fortunately, that was the last time my head was shaved. However, mom never gave up trying to make my hair look abundant and luxurious. She permed it when I was six (somewhere I have a photo of that, too). She tried setting it in pin curls, rags, or on rollers. If my hair wasn't permed, the set would not last long--even using various hair setting products.
Then hair spray was invented. It solved my limp hair problem!
Even better, I married a man with a thick head of hair. My daughters have lovely hair. They got lucky in that genetic toss of the dice.
