Ahead of my time in the hairdressing field

I was 3 or 4 years old when I first became a hairdresser, an early career path that failed to earn wholehearted support from my parents.

I’m not sure who was my first victim, the baby “Pebbles” doll, or … well, let me get to the other in a moment.

If you’re old enough, you may remember Pebbles, the cavegirl toddler who was the daughter of cartoon Neanderthals, Fred and Wilma Flintstone, on the popular Saturday morning series, “The Flintstones.”

The 16-inch Pebbles doll was released by the Ideal Toy Company in 1963. We were never much into trendy toys, but I do think my Pebbles came into my life shortly after that time.

As I was writing this column, I looked up online images of the doll. Only then did I realize just how much hair the original doll had.

Red-headed Pebbles wore her hair in that popular toddler fashion - a tiny ponytail straight up in the air, secured with a rubber band. In her case, the rubber band was adorned with a small plastic bone, to add that touch of cave baby authenticity.

I have the vaguest of memories of the day I cut Pebbles’ hair, but no inkling of the motivation. Suffice it to say that after I was finished, my Pebbles no longer had to worry about ponytails or osteo-themed barrettes.

If the term “buzz cut” hadn’t yet been invented, it had skillfully been mastered.

I remember that my mom didn’t share my youthful pride in my creative use of blunt-nosed scissors (which, I would like to add, require an extra level of determination when being used to cut hair).

But that paled in comparison to my next attempt at hairstyling.

My aunt, Blanche Williamson, owned and ran a high-quality children’s apparel store in Portales from the late 1950s through the early 1970s.

While we rarely shopped there (the clothing she sold was much more appropriate for town kids than country urchins like us), we were regular visitors.

Aunt Blanche was family, she had a clean bathroom, and she had a drool-inspiring display of fancy dolls in a glass case, including early Barbies and those oh-so-elegant Madame Alexander creations.

Obviously, my parents knew enough to not trust any of their offspring with really nice things, but each year Aunt Blanche and Uncle Jack bought Christmas gifts for all their nieces and nephews.

One early Christmas, my box from them had a pristine Madame Alexander doll.

I’m quite certain Aunt Blanche hoped that I (or my far more responsible parents) would put it on a high shelf FOR DISPLAY PURPOSES ONLY.

However, as you may have guessed, that is not what happened.

I well remember knowing in my heart of hearts that this exquisitely manufactured and coifed doll secretly wanted her bangs to be way-too-short, just like mine.

I made it happen soon after she came to live with us.

Once again, and with greater consequences, my parents failed to have proper appreciation of the delicate hand/eye coordination I had demonstrated in wielding those safety scissors.

In hindsight, they may have been right. Some of those early Madame Alexander dolls eventually became quite valuable, fetching thousands of dollars.

Sadly, no good market has yet to be found for the ones sporting what I like to call “the safety-scissor cut.”

Great artists, they say, are never appreciated in their lifetimes. I humbly take my place in those ranks.

Betty Williamson is pretty sure Chrome Dome Pebbles and Madame Short Hair are still in a box in her garage. Reach her at:

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