Showing posts from May, 2018

The Great Fallout: My hairy days ahead

I’ve never really appreciated my hair. Growing up a little brown girl in East Birmingham, I would lament that my dirty-brown, cottony mane wasn’t long enough, straight enough or looked like that of the pretty girl in my sixth-grade class. To me, my locks were too short and too nappy, and I thought God had given me a bum deal.
At night, I would take out a pair of my black, opaque church tights and fit them on my perfectly round head. I’d twist the legs into a long braid, contort it into different styles and then prance in the mirror until my mama made me take them off.
When I’d remove my mock do, I would be thrust back into reality and deflated all over again. I wanted long, curly coils like Denise Huxtable on “The Cosby Show” and bouncy bangs like Tootie on “The Facts of Life.” Heck, I even wanted Michael Jackson’s long, twisty locks like on the “Billie Jean” video. (I’m an 80s baby.)
On Saturday mornings, when it was time to get my hair pressed for the week to come, my mama would brac…