When I was 11 years old, I went to an overnight summer camp, called Hastings, for a month. I had a great time and made friends with a girl named Kate. We sailed and canoed together during free hour and my feelings for her quickly felt like more than the friendships that I had had before. Finally I decided to ask her to go to the end of .summer dance. She said yes, but I had a problem. My hair had grown very long that summer and it was difficult to keep out of my face. I looked like a shaggy dog.
I wanted to look good for my first date ever and didn’t think that any girl especially Kate, would want to dance with me looking like that. But there was nothing to be done. I couldn’t go to the barber shop, like my mother had wanted me to do before coming to camp.
After getting ready for the dance I went to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, playing with my hair trying to get it to stay in place, but it was impossible. It was too thin. In the end, however, I found that if I brushed my hair just right, it would rest on my eyebrows and take longer to fall down turning me into a sheep dog. This gave me hope and a plan. I went to the dance with my soft-brill hairbrush in my pocket so that when it was necessary, I could go to the men’s room and brush my hair back into place.
PAST
I was very excited about the dance that I was going to go to that evening. I was at Hastings overnight summer camp and the dance was to celebrate the last evening that we would be there that summer. I was 11 years old and I was standing in my cabin’s bathroom looking in the mirror at my hair and wondering what to do. It had grown very long that summer – I had been there for a month – and it was difficult to keep out of my face. I looked like a shaggy dog and didn’t think that any girl especially Kate, would want to dance with me looking like that. But there was nothing to be done. I couldn’t go to the barber shop, like my mother had wanted me to do before coming to camp, and it would have been to embarrassing to ask any of my fellow campers let alone my camp counselor for hairspray. That and I doubted that any of them had any.
As I stood in the mirror, I played with my hair trying to get it to stay in place, but it was impossible. It was too thin. In the end, I found that if I brushed my hair just right, it would rest on my eyebrows and take longer to fall down turning me into a sheep dog. This gave me hope and a plan. I would go to the dance with my soft-brill hairbrush in my pocket. And when it was necessary, I would go to the men’s room and brush my hair back into place.