Her and My Hair
Thoughts of her are frequent. They come and they go as often as the days turn into nights. She is all around. I notice her in my daughter, I notice her sometimes even when I speak, I hear her in my voice. I notice her in my husband, which may seem really odd but when we married my catch phrase was that 'I had married my Mom'. It's the damnedest thing because even though I notice her, I still miss her all the while.
Like today I passed by a park we had only visited once. It was her job's picnic and we were there early to set up. We were talking and laughing as usual, when we remembered hearing about a rapist on the loose in the area, on the radio. She went into full mommy mode by taking something potentially scary and making me feel completely safe. She talked about the diabolical things she would do to anyone who tried to hurt us, something involving carving our initials into their skin. Ma was crazy but she knew just how to make me smile.
So recently when I was defending my hair choice with an aunt whose name shall remain unstated (wink). I said out loud for the first time what I have known for a while. Though I love my locs, I have them in complete rebellion of my Mama's earthly absence. When my Grandma passed, I shaved my head bald. I knew I'd never be the same again. My Grandma wasn't a fan of natural hair, so shaving my head was the natural response. I got faux locs when my Mama passed and then just let my hair grow out. Mama would loathe my locs, she hated braids and twists. She was the happiest when I was her clone and wore her short pixie cut for a season. But that was never me. I knew it and so did she.
The pattern I've discovered about myself is that whenever I lose a parent I change my hair drastically. I become more of myself, since their approval is no longer a factor in my decision making.
My locs are my safe space. In the early stages of my grief, I used them to hide the tears in my eyes from my kids. I still enjoy a retreat into them every now and then.
Back then, I loved how low maintenance they were, that was before I knew that 'free-form' was an option. Now I recognize and appreciate their significance in my story. I enjoy that they are a statement of Black pride and resistance to white supremacy.
No other style of hair can legally prevent you from securing a job, so to me they are the ultimate protest to a corrupt system!
I'm a rebel, much like the two women I mourn that raised me. My locs are a reflection of who I am at this moment and I have never felt more like myself than I do with them now.
Like today I passed by a park we had only visited once. It was her job's picnic and we were there early to set up. We were talking and laughing as usual, when we remembered hearing about a rapist on the loose in the area, on the radio. She went into full mommy mode by taking something potentially scary and making me feel completely safe. She talked about the diabolical things she would do to anyone who tried to hurt us, something involving carving our initials into their skin. Ma was crazy but she knew just how to make me smile.
So recently when I was defending my hair choice with an aunt whose name shall remain unstated (wink). I said out loud for the first time what I have known for a while. Though I love my locs, I have them in complete rebellion of my Mama's earthly absence. When my Grandma passed, I shaved my head bald. I knew I'd never be the same again. My Grandma wasn't a fan of natural hair, so shaving my head was the natural response. I got faux locs when my Mama passed and then just let my hair grow out. Mama would loathe my locs, she hated braids and twists. She was the happiest when I was her clone and wore her short pixie cut for a season. But that was never me. I knew it and so did she.
The pattern I've discovered about myself is that whenever I lose a parent I change my hair drastically. I become more of myself, since their approval is no longer a factor in my decision making.
My locs are my safe space. In the early stages of my grief, I used them to hide the tears in my eyes from my kids. I still enjoy a retreat into them every now and then.
Back then, I loved how low maintenance they were, that was before I knew that 'free-form' was an option. Now I recognize and appreciate their significance in my story. I enjoy that they are a statement of Black pride and resistance to white supremacy.
No other style of hair can legally prevent you from securing a job, so to me they are the ultimate protest to a corrupt system!
I'm a rebel, much like the two women I mourn that raised me. My locs are a reflection of who I am at this moment and I have never felt more like myself than I do with them now.
Really...so I inspired this writing. My sentiments remain the same. Be Best...haha. I remember when you enjoyed your long flowing hair and you couldn't stop shaking your curls about. Thanks for the memories, but above all... Be You, Do You, Rejoice in You because you are one of a kind, divinely created and richly blessed.
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