Knotty Love

One of Pam's great life obsessions was hair...her own and everyone else's. One of my earliest memories of her is when she would wash my hair in the bathroom sink. I had to stand on a little step-stool, so I was probably around 4 years old. We had a whole system where I would turn my head to the left (I could see the shower curtain) and the right (I could see the fake plants on the counter)...then at the end she would rinse my hair with cold water, because she said it would make it shiny. She also taught me to pull a few strands through my fingers to see if it squeaked...if it did, the soap was all out.

She was always trying to brush my hair, too. She once told me that when I was a baby, I had to have this lotion rubbed into my hair to treat a scalp condition. It was oily and it ruined the way my hair looked...she said it made her so upset that she cried. That was Pam. Anything that got in the way of a good hair day was a tragedy.

One of the only fights I can remember having with her was when she insisted on brushing out some knots, and I didn't want her to do it. I was about 8. She kept brushing even through my protests, and pulled the brush so hard that it actually hurt. I ran to my room crying and screaming at her. She followed me, of course, and made up for it in a matter of minutes. She put on a record and we made up a dance routine in the living room. At least I knew that my sister would always love me, even if my hair wasn't perfect.