Long-Term Plans for My Hair

My mother had a gift for criticism disguised as conversation.

She preferred subtlety. Rather than telling you outright she disliked something, she would ask an innocent-sounding question about your vocabulary, your clothes, your posture, or whatever she thought needed improvement. She believed she was being tactful. The rest of us simply learned to brace ourselves.

For years I wasn’t sure how to respond until my husband, Jack, offered some unexpected advice.

“Laugh.” “I can’t laugh at my mother,” I protested. “Why not?” he asked. “You laugh at everyone else.” Not long afterward, I had the perfect opportunity to test his theory.

I walked into Mother’s house one afternoon, and she gave me that familiar once-over. After a thoughtful pause, she asked, “Margo, what are your long-term plans for your hair?”

Now, how does one answer that? I had never considered making long-term plans for my hair. Retirement plans, perhaps. Vacation plans, certainly. Hair plans? Never.

Jack’s advice flashed through my mind. “My long-term plan,” I replied, “is to have it.” Then I started laughing. The whole exchange suddenly struck me as wonderfully ridiculous. Were we really discussing my hairstyle, or was this simply Mother’s unique way of announcing she didn’t approve of my haircut?

Once I began laughing, I couldn’t stop. To my surprise, Mother finally laughed, too. The absurdity of her question caught up with both of us.

Something changed after that. Her carefully disguised critiques lost much of their sting, and our conversations became lighter. Whenever one of her subtle suggestions surfaced, laughter usually wasn’t far behind.

I’ve discovered that laughter has an amazing way of shrinking other people’s opinions down to their proper size. It doesn’t always change the critic.

But it often changes the one being criticized.