Stylist survival story closes clients' gossiping mouths
From a stylista from Chicago
Dymond drove to work on the icy and slippery roads of a typical Chicago winter as she realized that she had overcome the greatest challenge of her life. She had survived breast cancer and today she turned 30, an age her doctor told her she would never see.
She was a warrior who stood 6 feet tall like the Sears tower, skin as smooth and shiny as a plum and a spirit full of an abundance of unshakeable faith.
As she looked into her rearview mirror at her now completely gleaming bald head, she said joyously, "I made it! No more chemo for me, and no more hiding my head with a rug of artificial hair!"
Dymond made her way into the salon then removed her hat. She instantly heard the judgmental thoughts and felt the gossiping stares piercing into her appearance like a thorn in her flesh.
Reading lips, she noticed clients whispering: "Oh my goodness! That is not a cute look on her! She needs a wig!"
Ignoring them, Dymond continued on until she saw Reatha, the salon owner, greet her with open arms and seven dozen of white roses and a handful of birthday cards from herself and the other stylists. All of the envelopes said: "Happy 30 years of life to a woman who is more than a conqueror!"
Everyone in the salon was like a sister to Dymond; she loved them like they were her family. They cried together, laughed together and were always there for each other in every season of life. They understood why Dymond decided to take off her wig even though the clients did not.
"I love you all so much and I am very appreciative to have a family who has loved me to the highest degree unconditionally, especially during my difficult and uncertain times with my health," Dymond told Reatha.
Meka, a client in Reatha's chair who had been staring at Dymond like everyone else, asked the question on every client's mind, "Excuse me. I am not the one who like to gossip, but as you can see, everyone in here is wondering why did you cut off your hair to transform into what you look like now?"
"Is that so," Dymond asked. "I did not know that other people cared about what I would like with no hair, since my hair does not make me who I am."
Library silence enveloped the room, and instead of people studying books, they studied Dymond.
"Do I really have to explain why I am bald to you all," Dymond challenged the clients as she looked around the room.
"Girl, you ain't got to do that! That's your personal business, Dymond," Reatha exclaimed.
Dymond lovingly grabbed Reatha's hand. "You are so right. It is my personal business and I should not have to explain to anyone, but the truth is, I want to."
Dymond stepped out in the middle of the salon so everyone could see her face. "Ladies, I do understand that no one in here had a clue as to what I have been going through for 15 years. I was 15 years old when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Today, 15 years later, I am cancer free!" Tears of joy fell from Dymond's big beautiful hazel eyes.
Shame and embarrassment covered the clients' faces. Many lowered their eyes, uncomfortably shifted in their seats, or just dropped their heads.
"I have been covering my baldness with wigs that look like my hair. I know that I shocked you all when I walked through that door and took off my hat, but today, I am free to show the real me. So before any of you begin to judge me or talk about me, please know that I am a woman who has beaten all odds.
"Now since I've gotten that out the way, if you all don't mind, I would like to hear some music on my radio."
Dymond turned on her radio. Of all the songs WGCI 107.5 could play at that moment, India.Arie's voice piped through loud and clear: "I Am Not My Hair!"
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Do you think attitudes about women who sport "bald styles" have changed in 2010?
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