Sandra the Crackhead

You read correctly. I'm not making fun of people who have substance abuse issues. This is just another sad but true hair anecdote. When I was about 7 or 8, my aunt was tired of "dealing with" my hair.she wanted it "fixed". She wanted to perm my hair but didn't know how because she was a faithful Jherri curl client (She still is). One of her casual acquaintances ,Sandra, was a known drug addict. So much so that me and my brothers called her Sandra, the crack head. Her son was born addicted to that mess and was slow mentally and had a speech impediment. She had jerky body movements and weird and highly unbelievable stories. This is who my aunt trusted to put chemicals on my hair and scalp to "make it look nice." I was scared to walk with Sandra back to her apartment alone. When we got there there was almost nothing in this lady's house. Just bare white walls and scarce furniture. She mixed some potion, stirred it with a stick put gloves on then slathered it on my hair. When she rinsed it out she was surprised. Apparently it didn't take like it was supposed to. Her bright idea.... put rollers in it. When she was done, I had big eighties grown woman hair. She asked me if I liked it. I lied and said yes. When I got home my little brother told me the sad truth; I looked like Sandra, the crackhead.

A few months later my hair fell out again. There was absolutely no maintenance of the perm or thank goodness, the style. I feel okay telling this story not because I want to bash family or upbringing but because ALOT of women have their own Sandra stories. Sandra is merely a metaphor for the desperation that we face in just dealing with our hair. We often learn hair hatred very young. Sandra was part of my indoctrination.