Coconut Oil
Hey Baby, can you massage my scalp with coconut oil?
Today I wore my hair natural in public! It was so wild and free. While some of my natural sistas are probably saying whooptie and some of my relaxed or texturized sistas are probably saying you want a cookie, I must admit it was pretty endearing. I've been natural pretty much all my life and I never noticed how self conscious I'd became over the years because of my culture and generation until recently. Everyday I'm learning to accept my much coarser hair than the texture I remember having as a child. I could remember having a thick, but nicely coiled hair texture when I was younger.
During the time when I was in middle school, everybody at school had an obsession with being "mixed". You'd think while this was still somewhat true in our day and age we'd be able to overlook our mixed political views. I can remember a time when I was in elementary school and a Latino child in my class told me since I'm "African American", I should probably go back to Africa. I was pretty confused to say the least especially since in Compton I was raised around primarily Latinos and most of my first friends were Latino as well, but I never dwelled on it too much. I could also remember teasing my hair in middle school trying to make it look more "black", but I mean really what is black hair? I had a friend in middle school who's hair I always thought was so pretty and long which I slowly saw begin falling out every year right before my eyes because her mama decided to perm it. Suddenly she was one of those "I used to have long bomb hair when I little" girls.
When I got to high school I noticed freshman year my own hair was so damaged from ignorance of product and experimentation. As a child, my dad used to do my hair as a licensed cosmetologist. While some of my mom's side of the family tried to rationalize how my father must be "gay" for not only doing hair, but because he married a bigger woman since I guess according to society handsome men aren't supposed fall in love with women who were bigger than the average. My mama was beautiful and my dad was my super hero. I smile thinking how my dad proposed to my mom while washing her hair. Our dynamic was different because while mothers normally did their daughter's hair, but I could remember my daddy spinning me around in our home hair salon as my long Shirley Temple curls bounced full of life.
After my father died, my mom started trying to do my hair, but as she soon found my hair was a lot to handle. My mother started sending me to a local beauty college since I was "tender headed"(her words not mine since I never cried when my daddy did my hair). Then the glorious day came when a student decided she'd clip my already kept up clipped ends because in her opinion they needed maintenance. My once medium/mildly long length hair that flowed thickly down my back was ear length in no more than five minutes because of my scissor happy short haired stylist. When my mom came to pick me up, pissed off was not even the words. My mama was furious. I don't know about other cultures, but in the black culture sometimes a daughter's hair is a mother's glory. I never went to a beauty college again after that.
My mom began keeping my hair braided and as money got tight she attempt to head into a forbidden land. That forbidden land consisted of combing through the fortress on the top of my head that many refer to as hair. I literally used to scream in terror as she'd pop me saying "Stop making all that noise". I'd shut up, but when she'd leave I'd keep talking again. Insert me a crying laughing emoji face please while you are at it. The comb used to rake through my hair as she'd pack on some L I V grease and slicked back my hair into several parts securing braids and twist with rubber band and barrettes. Looking back, it was funny seeing her struggle to comb my hair as she hadn't touch my hair since I was a toddler putting defined curl ringlets in my once fine curly hair with the end of a rat tail comb.
Eventually fast forwarding back to middle school, she was tired of my shenanigans to say the least. After a war with the comb between my thick locks, my mother finally had gotten fed up. I can vividly remember her screaming in annoyance, " What do you want me to do with your hair?! Do you want a just for me softener, is that what you want?". I shook my head up and down as my head throbbed from the constant raking of the comb. After that one time encounter with just for me briefly, my hair was L A I D. I went to school the next day and a girl who used to do hair in my class asked if I did anything chemically to my hair because it was so P R E T T Y. I started to miss my thickness and I can remember my attempts at teasing volume in my hair.
I can remember my best friend's mom braiding me and my friend's hair and eventually my best friend started doing my hair in her signature style. There were two braids to the front, a middle bun, and two long braids to the back with some ballies to match. 6th grade that was not just our whole thang, but that was our entire thang. In between the times when my bestfriend did my hair, a slick bun with vonte silk effects was my signature style. My thick now medium length hair at the time was tucked low and discrete so I didn't have to think about what was growing from my scalp. Freshman year I was all about high buns, fohawks, and what people now call "wash n go's". The more I manipulated my hair, the more it shrank till it maintained a mixture of short and medium length hair. I never really let my hair grow out as long it was before that horrendous end clipping in elementary.
Fast forward to 11th grade after, my mom passed that summer. I lived with my best friend and her cousin did our hair every other week. She'd treat my hair with her growing hands while keeping up my ends and making sure to warn me about putting "refrigerator" in my hair because I loved to experiment with home remedies. My hair grew so fast there came a point when people began questioning my thickness for tracks or a wig.
After I got tired of the length I began letting my best friend's cousin do color and cuts in my hair. My best friend's mom only let me cut my hair so long because she said I needed to keep it long enough to be able to put it in a pony tail while my best friend got to shave her hair off. I was lowkey jealous that my bestfriend was allowed to shave her head as my cuts were only allowed to be only so short, but I guess her mom bonded with me over hair.
I have an aunt that always loved my hair so much. She would always say how I shouldn't cut it and let it get as long as my childhood length. It's safe to say I started having my bestfriend's cousin cut it all the time just to lowkey piss my Aunty off. I went as far as I could take my length restrictions from bangs, mushroom shaped cuts, and bobs. I was really testing the limit. I needed some type of outlet after my mom died besides school and activities so I took out some of my frustration on my hair. I tried maybe two weaves during highschool, but for the most part I enjoyed styling my natural hair between getting it done by my friend's cousin. Freshman year of college I was super into my natural hair and I don't know if it was me being my naturally eccentric self or my black culture class that had me so fired up.
My hair was cooperating and getting long and then I got my first real virgin weave. My friend's sister did my hair, only to have my friend fix my hair, and then have my other friend say it didn't look right and fix my hair again. I was horrified as me and one of my other friends tried to take that weave out after time passed. I was so pissed off while tears streamed down my face in annoyance as I had to cut that three friend styled weave out my hair. I had never been attached to my hair, but after I began enjoying my natural hair the switch of that horrible weave pissed me off. I literally never let anyone touch my hair again.
I started watching YouTube tutorials and found myself learning how to do my hair as I grew it back out. I guess you could say the rest was history. I started buying all types of hair origins only to get pissed off at money lost because most of the times the hair I got was nothing like how the early hair gurus of 2010 advertised. I kept getting scammed till I start exploring vendor sites. In 2012 I cut off all of my hair in frustration thinking about how addicted to weaves I'd become and I didn't even know the texture of my hair anymore. As I didn't know what to do with my shaved head as my curls began sprouting, I found myself making wigs during my growth journey.
As my hair got longer, I noticed it becoming damaged from me not maintaining my natural hair over the years. I found myself having to keep somewhat starting over and always cutting or clipping. Eventually when I was over the weave cycle, my edges became painfully thin with bald spots through the years of fox locks that hung past my waist like Lisa Bonet and other styles even though I'd always had fine edges. In addition to that, when my hair did start getting healthy I'd slap a texture softener in twice because of the thickness. I found myself repeatedly growing my hair out and starting over.
I can remember going to a particular friend's house and hear her friends comparing curl patterns. I notice how girls and women in both my culture as well as my generation not only suffer from severe colorism, but hairism too. Yea I made hairism up, but how else do you categorize us picking each other apart not only by our skin color, but also our hair texture? Maybe texturism would be a better phrase, but I often wonder if other communities suffer from this besides the black one. I found myself even one time telling my same friend that I used to admire's hair as we got older a few months back that her dad had "better" hair than her. What in the world is better hair? As I realize my error, I kick myself and subconsciously remind myself to apologize immediately. The truth is our hair changes so much and I start to even notice the same annoyance as my mama once had as I rake through and finger detangle my curly kinks. I get knots and tangles, but I promised myself I'd let my hair grow and have a disrespectful type fro.
Today as I rocked my hair for the first time since college, without a bun protecting it and a scarf hiding my edges I felt so free. I took an uber to the bank and had an enlightening conversation about health with our Russian uber driver and the Asian women who I pooled and sat next to me. I learned during this ride her boyfriend was African America and ginger cures everything in her culture as I observed her sleek high bun. Don't get me wrong- I've had several Asian friends through out the years, but I noticed she didn't look at me weird and inspect my hair like so many of my black friends over the years.
Both people talked to me like a person and didn't dissect my curl type or kinks like my black sisters do. I've been guilty of it too. Many people have glorified my hair and others have made me feel self conscious about it. I then noticed how on my way back home, the smooth skin natural Sista with beautiful locks who road silently next to me patted my arm as our we said goodbyes once arriving at her stop.
Maybe we aren't all overly obsessed. She was also older than me so that could be a reason too. I wonder if it's just this millennial generation. Every time I noticed a person admiring my hair or saying how I don't need to cut, I found myself cutting it repeatedly in defiance. I don't want to just be hair. Why do people take such ownership of a shell so temporary? The Caucasian woman that eventually pooled hummed oldies with me as she quickly discovered I loved to cook Asian food. Here I was this chocolate liberated young woman with a kinky fro talking about how I love cooking foods from other cultures.
As the ride came to a close, my older Caucasian uber driver discussed with me the history of long beach and his family history. He told me how his wife never lived more than 5 miles of where I lived her entire life within 77 years. He also told me how Long Beach was a Navy town before the switched to San Diego. He said our economy made suffered, but we made it through. I began to ask him if he noticed a decrease in his uber rides this week as delete uber hashtags surfaced around social media. He informed me he didn't see a difference. He also mentioned that he drives lyft also and they cut their prices this week. I find that interesting as over the last few weeks and months lyft has been offering me credits to start riding with them again, but I've never liked lyft. I smiled at how I was secretly glad that even though I requested my account to be deleted, uber ignored my request.
As I walked through the doors of my apartment, I smiled at how people treated me like a person and thought about how we could gain more understanding in this world if we just simply treated people like people. With each car I got into with different races, I was warm and open. We created meaningful and enlightening conversation. Not once did we ask each other if we voted for Hilary or Trump, but we all talked and laughed. I think if people aren't strong enough to deal with the hard answers they shouldn't ask the hard questions. We should start with love and respect without any limitations or expectations. The guards have to come down.
As I finish writing this post, I begin to think about how I don't want my husband to fear my Afro like we fear our neighbors. I want my future husband to get used to my kinks and tangles since I'll probably only wear my good ole Peruvian wig on Sunday's like the old school church mothers do. Thinking of this makes me smile as I think about the stories my close friend tells me about how her boyfriend massages her scalp and shaves her head as she suffers from alopecia. We've all been contaminated and maybes if we loved more we could massage each other's scalp with understanding. Hey baby, can you massage my scalp with coconut oil?
Today I wore my hair natural in public! It was so wild and free. While some of my natural sistas are probably saying whooptie and some of my relaxed or texturized sistas are probably saying you want a cookie, I must admit it was pretty endearing. I've been natural pretty much all my life and I never noticed how self conscious I'd became over the years because of my culture and generation until recently. Everyday I'm learning to accept my much coarser hair than the texture I remember having as a child. I could remember having a thick, but nicely coiled hair texture when I was younger.
During the time when I was in middle school, everybody at school had an obsession with being "mixed". You'd think while this was still somewhat true in our day and age we'd be able to overlook our mixed political views. I can remember a time when I was in elementary school and a Latino child in my class told me since I'm "African American", I should probably go back to Africa. I was pretty confused to say the least especially since in Compton I was raised around primarily Latinos and most of my first friends were Latino as well, but I never dwelled on it too much. I could also remember teasing my hair in middle school trying to make it look more "black", but I mean really what is black hair? I had a friend in middle school who's hair I always thought was so pretty and long which I slowly saw begin falling out every year right before my eyes because her mama decided to perm it. Suddenly she was one of those "I used to have long bomb hair when I little" girls.
When I got to high school I noticed freshman year my own hair was so damaged from ignorance of product and experimentation. As a child, my dad used to do my hair as a licensed cosmetologist. While some of my mom's side of the family tried to rationalize how my father must be "gay" for not only doing hair, but because he married a bigger woman since I guess according to society handsome men aren't supposed fall in love with women who were bigger than the average. My mama was beautiful and my dad was my super hero. I smile thinking how my dad proposed to my mom while washing her hair. Our dynamic was different because while mothers normally did their daughter's hair, but I could remember my daddy spinning me around in our home hair salon as my long Shirley Temple curls bounced full of life.
After my father died, my mom started trying to do my hair, but as she soon found my hair was a lot to handle. My mother started sending me to a local beauty college since I was "tender headed"(her words not mine since I never cried when my daddy did my hair). Then the glorious day came when a student decided she'd clip my already kept up clipped ends because in her opinion they needed maintenance. My once medium/mildly long length hair that flowed thickly down my back was ear length in no more than five minutes because of my scissor happy short haired stylist. When my mom came to pick me up, pissed off was not even the words. My mama was furious. I don't know about other cultures, but in the black culture sometimes a daughter's hair is a mother's glory. I never went to a beauty college again after that.
My mom began keeping my hair braided and as money got tight she attempt to head into a forbidden land. That forbidden land consisted of combing through the fortress on the top of my head that many refer to as hair. I literally used to scream in terror as she'd pop me saying "Stop making all that noise". I'd shut up, but when she'd leave I'd keep talking again. Insert me a crying laughing emoji face please while you are at it. The comb used to rake through my hair as she'd pack on some L I V grease and slicked back my hair into several parts securing braids and twist with rubber band and barrettes. Looking back, it was funny seeing her struggle to comb my hair as she hadn't touch my hair since I was a toddler putting defined curl ringlets in my once fine curly hair with the end of a rat tail comb.
Eventually fast forwarding back to middle school, she was tired of my shenanigans to say the least. After a war with the comb between my thick locks, my mother finally had gotten fed up. I can vividly remember her screaming in annoyance, " What do you want me to do with your hair?! Do you want a just for me softener, is that what you want?". I shook my head up and down as my head throbbed from the constant raking of the comb. After that one time encounter with just for me briefly, my hair was L A I D. I went to school the next day and a girl who used to do hair in my class asked if I did anything chemically to my hair because it was so P R E T T Y. I started to miss my thickness and I can remember my attempts at teasing volume in my hair.
I can remember my best friend's mom braiding me and my friend's hair and eventually my best friend started doing my hair in her signature style. There were two braids to the front, a middle bun, and two long braids to the back with some ballies to match. 6th grade that was not just our whole thang, but that was our entire thang. In between the times when my bestfriend did my hair, a slick bun with vonte silk effects was my signature style. My thick now medium length hair at the time was tucked low and discrete so I didn't have to think about what was growing from my scalp. Freshman year I was all about high buns, fohawks, and what people now call "wash n go's". The more I manipulated my hair, the more it shrank till it maintained a mixture of short and medium length hair. I never really let my hair grow out as long it was before that horrendous end clipping in elementary.
Fast forward to 11th grade after, my mom passed that summer. I lived with my best friend and her cousin did our hair every other week. She'd treat my hair with her growing hands while keeping up my ends and making sure to warn me about putting "refrigerator" in my hair because I loved to experiment with home remedies. My hair grew so fast there came a point when people began questioning my thickness for tracks or a wig.
After I got tired of the length I began letting my best friend's cousin do color and cuts in my hair. My best friend's mom only let me cut my hair so long because she said I needed to keep it long enough to be able to put it in a pony tail while my best friend got to shave her hair off. I was lowkey jealous that my bestfriend was allowed to shave her head as my cuts were only allowed to be only so short, but I guess her mom bonded with me over hair.
I have an aunt that always loved my hair so much. She would always say how I shouldn't cut it and let it get as long as my childhood length. It's safe to say I started having my bestfriend's cousin cut it all the time just to lowkey piss my Aunty off. I went as far as I could take my length restrictions from bangs, mushroom shaped cuts, and bobs. I was really testing the limit. I needed some type of outlet after my mom died besides school and activities so I took out some of my frustration on my hair. I tried maybe two weaves during highschool, but for the most part I enjoyed styling my natural hair between getting it done by my friend's cousin. Freshman year of college I was super into my natural hair and I don't know if it was me being my naturally eccentric self or my black culture class that had me so fired up.
My hair was cooperating and getting long and then I got my first real virgin weave. My friend's sister did my hair, only to have my friend fix my hair, and then have my other friend say it didn't look right and fix my hair again. I was horrified as me and one of my other friends tried to take that weave out after time passed. I was so pissed off while tears streamed down my face in annoyance as I had to cut that three friend styled weave out my hair. I had never been attached to my hair, but after I began enjoying my natural hair the switch of that horrible weave pissed me off. I literally never let anyone touch my hair again.
I started watching YouTube tutorials and found myself learning how to do my hair as I grew it back out. I guess you could say the rest was history. I started buying all types of hair origins only to get pissed off at money lost because most of the times the hair I got was nothing like how the early hair gurus of 2010 advertised. I kept getting scammed till I start exploring vendor sites. In 2012 I cut off all of my hair in frustration thinking about how addicted to weaves I'd become and I didn't even know the texture of my hair anymore. As I didn't know what to do with my shaved head as my curls began sprouting, I found myself making wigs during my growth journey.
As my hair got longer, I noticed it becoming damaged from me not maintaining my natural hair over the years. I found myself having to keep somewhat starting over and always cutting or clipping. Eventually when I was over the weave cycle, my edges became painfully thin with bald spots through the years of fox locks that hung past my waist like Lisa Bonet and other styles even though I'd always had fine edges. In addition to that, when my hair did start getting healthy I'd slap a texture softener in twice because of the thickness. I found myself repeatedly growing my hair out and starting over.
I can remember going to a particular friend's house and hear her friends comparing curl patterns. I notice how girls and women in both my culture as well as my generation not only suffer from severe colorism, but hairism too. Yea I made hairism up, but how else do you categorize us picking each other apart not only by our skin color, but also our hair texture? Maybe texturism would be a better phrase, but I often wonder if other communities suffer from this besides the black one. I found myself even one time telling my same friend that I used to admire's hair as we got older a few months back that her dad had "better" hair than her. What in the world is better hair? As I realize my error, I kick myself and subconsciously remind myself to apologize immediately. The truth is our hair changes so much and I start to even notice the same annoyance as my mama once had as I rake through and finger detangle my curly kinks. I get knots and tangles, but I promised myself I'd let my hair grow and have a disrespectful type fro.
Today as I rocked my hair for the first time since college, without a bun protecting it and a scarf hiding my edges I felt so free. I took an uber to the bank and had an enlightening conversation about health with our Russian uber driver and the Asian women who I pooled and sat next to me. I learned during this ride her boyfriend was African America and ginger cures everything in her culture as I observed her sleek high bun. Don't get me wrong- I've had several Asian friends through out the years, but I noticed she didn't look at me weird and inspect my hair like so many of my black friends over the years.
Both people talked to me like a person and didn't dissect my curl type or kinks like my black sisters do. I've been guilty of it too. Many people have glorified my hair and others have made me feel self conscious about it. I then noticed how on my way back home, the smooth skin natural Sista with beautiful locks who road silently next to me patted my arm as our we said goodbyes once arriving at her stop.
Maybe we aren't all overly obsessed. She was also older than me so that could be a reason too. I wonder if it's just this millennial generation. Every time I noticed a person admiring my hair or saying how I don't need to cut, I found myself cutting it repeatedly in defiance. I don't want to just be hair. Why do people take such ownership of a shell so temporary? The Caucasian woman that eventually pooled hummed oldies with me as she quickly discovered I loved to cook Asian food. Here I was this chocolate liberated young woman with a kinky fro talking about how I love cooking foods from other cultures.
As the ride came to a close, my older Caucasian uber driver discussed with me the history of long beach and his family history. He told me how his wife never lived more than 5 miles of where I lived her entire life within 77 years. He also told me how Long Beach was a Navy town before the switched to San Diego. He said our economy made suffered, but we made it through. I began to ask him if he noticed a decrease in his uber rides this week as delete uber hashtags surfaced around social media. He informed me he didn't see a difference. He also mentioned that he drives lyft also and they cut their prices this week. I find that interesting as over the last few weeks and months lyft has been offering me credits to start riding with them again, but I've never liked lyft. I smiled at how I was secretly glad that even though I requested my account to be deleted, uber ignored my request.
As I walked through the doors of my apartment, I smiled at how people treated me like a person and thought about how we could gain more understanding in this world if we just simply treated people like people. With each car I got into with different races, I was warm and open. We created meaningful and enlightening conversation. Not once did we ask each other if we voted for Hilary or Trump, but we all talked and laughed. I think if people aren't strong enough to deal with the hard answers they shouldn't ask the hard questions. We should start with love and respect without any limitations or expectations. The guards have to come down.
As I finish writing this post, I begin to think about how I don't want my husband to fear my Afro like we fear our neighbors. I want my future husband to get used to my kinks and tangles since I'll probably only wear my good ole Peruvian wig on Sunday's like the old school church mothers do. Thinking of this makes me smile as I think about the stories my close friend tells me about how her boyfriend massages her scalp and shaves her head as she suffers from alopecia. We've all been contaminated and maybes if we loved more we could massage each other's scalp with understanding. Hey baby, can you massage my scalp with coconut oil?
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