I freely admit that today I am suffering the after effects of too much fun. Last night Mark and I helped celebrate the half century achievement of a lovely woman and friend whose selflessness makes anyone she comes across an instant friend. Put simply, if you don’t like her, your friend radar has gone extremely wonky!
Anyway, as is common for all similar celebrations, the passing years attract people of all ages and from all walks of life, from her lovely, accomplished and attractive daughters and their friends to us, of the, um, ever so slightly older generation, and beyond. If the numbers of people who attend your birthday celebrations is a measure of your value to others, she is highly valued indeed.
But this is not a commentary on our friend’s social acceptance, but instead the form of the party itself. It is normal at these events for people to gather in their usual peer groups, facing inwards, backs to the rest of the world as a protective barrier, passing between them the hot potatoes of shared stories that guarantee that no stranger can force their way in. But not at this one.
Our friend’s master stroke was to introduce a theme, a small and, in some cases, exceedingly hairy device that effectively disguised all partygoers: wigs. Long, short, curly, straight, or, in my Mark’s case, mohawked and multi-coloured! The result was hilarious confusion as longstanding friends struggled to locate each other and were forced to introduce themselves to complete strangers in a wig-infested elimination round.
Men of all ages returned to the dark days of the 80s rock gods, but although some of the younger ones seemed to enjoy this renaissance of hair, and quite suited it, it has to be said that the effect of combining shimmering locks with middle-aged spread was not always as positive.
Of course, the girls didn’t take it too seriously, just bit of fun really. No, not really, in some quarters it was all out war to try and out glamorise the competition! Greying, short, sensible haircuts disappeared under flowing tresses in all hues, matched to outfits that certainly hadn’t been just hanging around in the closet!
Basically, we all ‘went to town’, and had a great time for the first part of the evening re-introducing ourselves to the new personalities our friends had become, and introducing ourselves to the people we thought could be our friends and soon would be!
As the evening wore on, and the bar staff fought to keep up, we moved in to a new stage, as the carefully staged wig and outfit combinations were stripped apart and wig-swapping became the latest craze. At last count, in the wee hours, one friend had managed to beg, borrow and barter, at least a dozen wigs, each of which became a new Facebook identity. There must be many of her friends unconnected with the party completely baffled by the quick fire transformations!
My point in all of this hairy mayhem is that the wigs acted as a social leveller. We were suddenly all the same; confused, self-conscious and ever so slightly itchy. We moved through the party in disguise, free to talk to whomever we wanted, without the social barriers that usually apply. In short, it was great fun and I highly recommend it.
Oops, I’m supposed to have an educational theme in here somewhere. Let’s see. Don’t judge a book by its cover? Treat others as you wish to be treated? Actually, there may be something in that; so many of ‘our’ kids arrive with labels and histories, carried before them almost as a pre-judgement. But we refuse to let history colour our present with them. Our centre is a new start for many of them, and I honestly believe that this more than anything else has helped many of them to succeed. Sermon over, I’m off for yet another Sunday recovery cup of tea!