I think I was the original Chia head.

My hair was very thick, heavy, and difficult to manage as a kid.
When Nana came to take care of us, her pet project became getting my hair under control.

She brought me to the hairdresser, who attached me to a machine. Curlers hanging down were attached to my hair, and the machine turned on.
My hair was baked and curled, and I came out looking like the Bride of Frankenstein.
The curls lasted a week when the weight of my hair pulled them down.

Then my sister Cathy offered to cut my bangs.
And as she cut, seeing that they were uneven, she cut again, and again. I ended up with a ring of fuzzy hair circling my forehead.
Every time I felt the fuzz on the top of my head, I thought of the song: Fuzzy Wuzzy!
At nine, I learned an important skill: comb-over and cover bald spots.

Luckily, like a chia pet, my hair grew back quickly.

My grandmother's next idea was for me to get a chemical permanent. I protested loudly to no avail.
I decided then to appeal to my father. I learned early that I could wrap my dad around my little finger. All I needed would be to have a quivering lip, a tear or two, a pleading look, and I had him in the palm of my hand. Putting on my most pitiful performance, I begged and pleaded with him for me not to have a permanent. He looked at me and just said: "Nana said you are to go to the hairdresser's, so you are going."
I had lost my power over dad. I am doomed.

As I sat in the hairdresser's chair, she opened the kit and handed me paper strips to hand her while she rolled my hair.
It seemed to take hours to roll my hair while she tugged, and as she tightened each roller, my scalp turned a bright red. Then she opened a bottle to squeeze the permanent solution. The chemical smell was atrocious.

When the perm was finished, looking in the mirror, I did look like a chia pet, and the smell lingered. With the stench, I expected to have flies buzzing around my head.
Again, that perm did not last long, and my grandmother finally gave up trying to manage my hair chemically.

Free from any chemical hair treatments, I began babysitting on Friday nights to three little girls upstairs from our apartment. I often fell asleep on their couch when their mother would come home near 2 AM. I did not know that also living in this apartment was headlice.
The lice must have seen my hair as a thick jungle and quickly took up residence. Now I had daily chemical treatments, and my hair was cut, cropped, and clipped.

Regardless of the heat that summer, I wore a hat. Now my hair took its time to grow back.

Now in my senior years, my hair is thinner where my sister cut it. I can now use my comb-over skill to cover the spot.