My hair was never cut when I was a baby/toddler, and by the time I got to kindergarten, it was down to my waist. One evening, my aunt (mom’s sister) babysat me. She was 14. She liked to use me as a doll. She’d dress me up, put makeup on me, etc. That evening, she decided to cut my hair off! When my parents came home, my dad blew his top! He said she wasn’t allowed back in the house! He didn’t mean it, but he was fit to be tied. After that, my hair wasn’t cut until I was 15, when it was down to my waist again. Since then, I’ve had shoulder-length, short, then back to shoulder-length, and now it’s a little longer than my shoulders. When I become an oldER lady, I’d like to grow it a little longer and then keep it in a side braid.
I had 3 sisters, and we all had long hair. My dad would have to clean out the shower drain all the time and also remove the hair that was wrapped around the vacuum beater bar. When we would brush our own hair every day but couldn’t reach the back (elementary school age), we’d develop giant rat nests at the nape of our necks. My mom would spend hours untangling them. We’d scream and cry. My dad would yell from his throne (recliner), “Cut it off, cut it all off!” 
Those were the days!
A bad hair day can ruin my day.
The “rat nest’ syndrome has caused many an Elementary school age kid to have a cute pixie cut the next day.
I spent so much time brushing my girls squirrels nest hair. It could be smooth as glass leaving for school. I was always amazed at how bad their hair looked at pick-up time.
I finally figured out a pony tail or braid would keep things less tangled.
Until the dreaded hair tie that gets stuck and has to be cut out. Did plenty of that.
I guess I have a lot of hair stories. I’ll tell you the first one:
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived a little princess with long blonde hair. Yes, it was me. And one day, I was messing around in my mother’s bathroom and I found an odd little comb. I used it to give the back of my head a couple of licks, and then my mom came in and started to scream and cry. Turns out it was a comb with a recessed razor in it, and I’d cut a good swathe. The amusing part of the story is that my mom called her parents to tell them what I’d done, but she was so upset she couldn’t get it out. When my grandfather answered the phone, Mom sobbed something like, “Dad! Oh my god. Julie…Julie…” He thought I’d been killed. 
I cut my baby sister’s hair when she was about 3. I got about half cut, fairly dramatically, before I was caught at it.
Baby sister had a sweet little bubble bob after that. I thought I did her a favor.
Daddy was less generous.