What Lice Beneath

Summer of ’85.  It was hot and sticky.  The heat was penetrating through multiple layers of sunscreen (as if we were wearing one) and burrowing into our skin all the way into the dura mater, as one friend has described it, and converting my already dark tone in a darker shade of dark, which was a few layers away from skin cancer.   It’s one degree away from hell.  It was that hot. 

Growing up in a tropical country where the temperature during that time of the year could only be described as mercurial, summer was a rite of passage to most kids.  And since it was humid, which was the perfect petri dish for bugs to thrive, a certain breed of species, believe it or not, was part of growing up.  Lice.  You heard that right.  Those creepy crawlers that would elicit a sensation of itchiness just the mere mention of it.  You are probably scratching now that I just mentioned it. 

 

As a physical therapist working in a hospital setting here in the US, lice are considered infestations and worthy of a category of contact isolation precaution, which means that one has to be isolated from everyone else.  And as a healthcare worker, I have to wear the proper PPEs if I am to interact with this patient.  There will be a sign outside the door that says so and everyone needs to wear gloves, gown and hair covering. And in the COVID era, that includes a mask. 

 

But that summer of ’85, I did not bother wearing any protection.  I tackled lice, head on, pun intended. 

My friends had it.  And one of our games, if you could call it that way, was grabbing a suyod, which was a form of a comb with very fine teeth, and then stroking it along the length of everyone’s hair so that we could remove the lice’s eggs, as well as the lice itself and then crush them as they fell to the ground.  We got the satisfaction of doing this ritual once we heard a faint pop or felt it crush against our nails.  Think pimple popping but with a live specimen.  I guess this was where I got my obsession with watching gross videos on YouTube because I started early as a kid. 

But since I had very fine hair, I was one of the few kids who got lice later on.  The bug had difficulty thriving on my hair because it was not thick enough for protection against the harsh living conditions of the outside world.  This would have been an advantage to me, generally speaking, but I considered myself unlucky for not being “in fashion” with my friends.  I did not want to be left out so I made an effort to acquire it.  I would rub my hair against my friends’ so these parasites could work their way into my scalp either by crossing the blood-brain barrier, by osmosis or by psychic transmission, as long as I could one day claim that I had lice and I “belong”.  I know it is gross but can you blame my eight year old self for wanting to be N-Sync with his friends?  I thought having lice was cool.    

And I succeeded.  Not at being cool but having lice.  I remember my grandmother being so upset washing my hair with a very sour vinegar concoction as my shampoo so she could poison the bugs into extinction to no avail.  She was only successful at having my hair turn out as crunchy as an old broom left in storage for decades.  And I had to endure the stench of that darn thing for a few days, which caused side glances from my other friends thinking that it was my arm pits that smelled like a dipping sauce, but in reality, it was my hair that reeked like Okoy. 

My grandmother would be very patient combing my hair, then killing these pests, while mumbling, wondering and complaining on how I ended up having them in my hair.  Pets, not pests, she would call them sarcastically.  Meanwhile, I was there sitting very still and hoping that my friends would not tell on her that I made a conscious effort in acquiring the damn parasites.  This ceremony, which was a game for me and a chore for her, became one of our bonding activities on those lazy and humid afternoons- but she was more upset than nurturing throughout the whole time so I would not really call it bonding.    

Finally, out of frustration, she took me to my barber and asked him to shave my head.  I begged him not to do it for fear of being made fun of because I thought that the back of my head was flat.  He obliged and I got a really short haircut instead, which turned out to be the best solution in getting rid of those vermin.  Again, since my hair was very fine, it was easy for me to “recover” from the infestation.  Now that I think about it, I am wondering if I ended up passing the lice to the next person in line at the barber shop.  I doubt that my barber sanitized his equipment for the sake of his clients because usually the main concern of a small business owner in a third world country in the 80s was to make money and not to be the most sanitary place in the world.  Anyway, like what I said, having lice was not a big deal because at one point in our Filipino lives, suffering from one was sort of normal, inevitable and part of growing up, with some not even outgrowing them, and eventually making them as the unseen and unwanted honorary members of the family. 

 

Funny how at a young age, I had been mentally prepared to conform to what was considered “fashion” or “cool”, well at least to my very low standards.   I wanted to feel the sense of belongingness to my friends and not be the odd one out when in fact, what made me different from them was what would have been the better and “hygienic” choice. 

At least I could tell my future friends now that I once had lice.  But is it really something to brag about?  It’s just funny to recall on how I contacted them.  It was a conscious effort.  I wanted it from the very beginning.  In the end, I can now confidently identify what it looks like, particularly its eggs, as my co-workers have no idea what are the signs that point out that someone has their own “pets” on their crowning glory.  I am not sure if that is one skill I can be proud of but most Filipinos can. 

So that’s the story how I had lice, how I wanted to be cool during one hot summer vacation and ended up almost being bald with a lingering smell of vinaigrette. 

The next summer, it would be another adventure for me and my friends.   And yearly, there would be memorable stories how those summer went.  But one thing was consistent: it was always hot.  I felt like every year, it got hotter and hotter, until one day, we could not tell the difference between earth and purgatory. 

I guess when you live in country smacked close to the equator in the middle of the Pacific and China Sea, having a hot and humid summer is just a regular thing, with additional perks, like beautiful beaches, tropical drinks, and great sea food with extra lice. 

 

May 10, 2021