My Life in Hair (Unfinished from 10/19/06)

It seems a funny sort of topic, but it's relevant for the day I can assure you. Tonight, I will be back in my braids. The plan was to have them in by late October, early November but, hubby put the pressure on. It seems funny that my hubby would have so much influence on something that may seem insignificant to a man but, he rarely asks for anything in regards to my appearance. He loves that I don't wear make-up and that my hair pieces are totally an accessory to me. He embraces my love of jewelry and contributes to the cause of his own free will. So, when he kept asking, "When are you getting your braids back," I went ahead and moved the date closer . Tonight, I will sit while I my beautician adds to my "crown and glory."

It seems to be consistent with African-American women; our hair is so important. Not to say that it isn't for other cultures, but for those of us with "nappy roots", we spend our fair share of time and money making it look the best that it can. Most black women have stories to tell, when it comes to their hair. I am no different. As a child, my mother subjected me to the ten foot fro with the headbands (mama, why?), sending me on my way to Sunday school with hair that nearly touched the ceiling. For me, I hated the constant picking, tugging and pulling it took to get it that way. I was no fan of the "hot" comb (pressing comb) either. Sitting for hours in a bar stool while she waited for a comb of metal on the eye of the stove to reach searing temperatures--then, to drag it's teeth through my natural tresses (and occasionaly touching my neck or temples) to make me look "pretty". Ugh! Who needs it! Well, that was me until the age of seven. Then...Cornrows! Every few months, a new do complete with beads in a variety of colors. I was admired and adored.

In the year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and eighty-four a new style emerged. My entire family embraced the curl, complete with it's never ending supply of activator. Greasy bus windows and pillow cases abound! What the hell were we thinking? At least our hair was moisturized and absent of heat. Many of us can attribute our one time of "long hair" to the curl.

Once Michael had his accident and we figured out that, "Gee, we're all flammable," my curl gave way to more cornrows. At fifteen, my first relaxer. I loved that I could get straight hair with just the blow of a dryer...I hated the retouches (still do). Short, layered, long the relaxer allowed me to look like my counterparts, but also go through the daily drama of keeping it maintained. Who needs it!