In the beginning (hair story 1)

In the beginning there was the big nappy hair. According to pictures of me at about two or three, there were ponytails , really big, with yarn ribbons. I am told that around the same time, all of my hair fell out due to sores from impetigo. This is where my battle began. My aunt who was my caregiver could not do hair. I repeat she could not do hair. I now know that most Black women don't know how to keep hair healthy but she was worse, because she couldn't style it. She did not know how to cornrow or twist and didn't believe in "wasting money" on barrettes or tootsie balls. There was plaits and all kinds of grease. That was it. It was not unusual on Saturday night for my pre-church preparation to have my hair washed with dish detergent. Conditioner, what was that? My hair was pulled and tugged and called everything but a work of God. Slowly but surely, my hair would "fall out" periodically. Of course that was blamed on me letting girls "play in my hair."

Oh how I longed for "french braids" with beads or barettes to dangle and move when I bounced around. If I were lucky, my cousin would blow dry my hair and twist it with barrettes or my aunt's friend would give me french braids with the foil on the ends. I put my stocking cap onfaithfully during those times, because I wanted those styles to last. I was tired of the kids (read girls) at school calling me nappy head this, and bald headed that. To little Black kids in the hood, there is nothing worse than being Black, with short, nappy hair. At least, in their minds, they were obliged at least change the two that they could. Honestly, I did not know the difference between my hair and theirs. I knew I had nappy hair but I just thought all Black folks had nappy hair. I had never seen or used a pressing comb and was blistfully ignorant. I did want longer hair so my beads (on rare occasions) could shake like maracas when I played double-dutch.