'The Help' highlights a familiar hair battle

At the recommendation of a friend, I picked up a book that a white lady wrote about black maids. I had reservations about reading it -- I tend to havea bias against white writers using black characters -- but I enjoyed the book. The book is set in the 1960s, so there's lots of talk about the civil rights movment, the power struggle between blacks and whites, black domestics battling against their white employers, etc etc etc. All that is fine and good, but the thing that struck me was The Hair.




One of the main characters is a woman named Skeeter and she often battles her mother over her clothes and hairstyles. Apparently, her hair is too frizzy for her mother's tastes, so she always sends her to the salon or fusses at her when it's not done right. At one point, Skeeter goes through some kind of excessive hair regimen -- It was foreign to me, so I can't offer details -- that temporarily gives her the hair her mother desires. Sounded a bit like a relaxer for white people. But here is how Skeeter sums up her looks:



My own mother is looking at me as if I completely baffle her mind with my looks, my height, my hair. To say I have frizzy hair is an understatement. It is kinky, more pubic than cranial, and whitish blond, breaking off easily, like hay. (Pg. 65-66)



Her hair struggle is one that speaks volumes to me. I've been natural for about five years, so that has meant that I also baffle my mother with my looks -- this thick head of kinky hair in particular. I often get compliments on my locks, twists, 'fro, etc, but Mom has never been on the natural hair team. She hasn't been as vocal as Skeeter's mother, yet she has made it clear that she would like me to have a relaxer. It's become a bit of a joke in the family. I'll ask if I can borrow something, she'll joke that I can, only if I have a relaxer. She nearly had a heart attack the few times she saw my 'fro. Of course, she had nothing to say when I pointed out that I look eerily similar to her high school graduation picture, the one where she could barely fit her cap over her huge 'fro.



We laugh about it, and I'm still hoping Mom will come around. (I've given up on some other members of my family) I found this online and I know I'm not alone in the mother-daughter hair conflict. Maybe we can all start a support group, and invite Skeeter.


Photo from http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTDvLzuUkdhPGbS4Jd67FS0Bsm9hqpg9DMcdo_FDhP1oljJqOIf

Catching Up 2011

Happy new year! I, for one, am happy to give 2010 a big ole kiss goodbye. The year started out wonderfully, then it got a little bad, then it got ugly, and then things started to turn around. So its onward and upward for 2011, and I’m looking forward to it. Here’s a few things that have been going on.

-Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? My new uncle, that’s who. It’s never been a secret that my granddaddy got around (my grandparents’ marriage was null and void a loooong time ago), and there were rumors of other children circulating for YEARS. So some of us weren’t so surprised when my auntie got a call saying she had an adult brother living in another state who would like to meet the family and get to know us. Said uncle is about four years older than me. Gramps, you got some ‘splaining to do.

-Whip My Hair Back and Forth. In 2010, I decided I needed to make a few changes in my life. One of those changes was getting rid of my locs. I sat in my aunt/hairdresser/therapist’s chair and watched with dry eyes as she cut off my nearly butt length hair. I kept going back repeatedly as she combed and conditioned then press n curled me into someone I hadn’t seen in about five years. I was calm as I placed one of my locs in a plastic baggie and inserted it into my diary. My resolve started to break as I tried to get back in the routine of maintaining my own hair. I did NOT miss the burnt smell of curling irons and flat irons, constantly freaking out every time it rains and keeping a ponytail holder nearby in case of emergencies. Then there was a day I was sitting at my desk listening to Bob Marley’s ‘Buffalo Soldier’ and I ran to the bathroom in tears. Oh, how I miss my dreads.

-Hey, Young World. Because 2010 has been so challenging for me, I decided to relaign the universe by making it better for other people. Well, just my younger cousin. I mentioned before how I wanted to fix him up with a girl at my gym. I eventually told him about her, but I was worried about how he would react. I imagined a variety of responses: “Stay outta my business.” “Why should I trust you?” “Does she have a big booty?” But he gave me a simple, three word answer. “Hook it up.” I worked my magic, did a little Facebook picture exchange and now they are flirting in the social networking realm. I hope they name their first child after me.

-Goals. I don’t have any New Year’s traditions, but writer Tayari Jones gave me a cool idea. So I took a sheet of paper and listed 10 things from 2010 that I’m letting out of my life, and 10 things that I’m letting in for 2011. Some of the left behinds include self doubt, depressing people and negative thoughts. I’m trading those in for an effort to surround myself with positive people, running a 5K, re-commit to guitar, and completion of novel #2.

That’s about it. I wish you a well 2011. I hope to return to a more normal blogging schedule very soon.

Shucking & Jiving ('**The Moral of the Story Is, You Never Know Who You Steppin to ...*)

We had a going away party for a colleague recently. It was a potluck, and, gourmet chef that I am, I volunteered to bring the drinks. And, astute planner that I am, I waited until the last minute to do so. So I moseyed on over to my local ____ Store, so I could get the proper items. And here is what happened to me:

(Note: The following interaction has been severely dramatized to reflect how I felt and names have been changed to reflect the innocent. You have been warned)

I fill my cart with some soda and fruit punch and go over to aisle #3, where a man in front of me has a cart filled with a big ole box of Draino. The man is white, the cashier is black.
Cashier: Why, Sir, what you got there?? Twelve bottles of Draino??
Him: Look Darky, I’m in a rush, so don’t give me no lip. Just ring up my stuff.
Cashier: I suuuuuuure will, Sir! Don’t you worry about a blessed thing. Let’s see, 12 bottles of Draino …
Him: Just ring it up! Can’t you see I got shit to tend to?
Cashier: Yes sir, I’m on it. Let’s see, one bottle of Draino * scan *, two bottles of Draino * scan * …
(She proceeds to ring each single bottle up, one at a time, as the man’s patience seems to dwindle, finally, she’s finished and he gives her the money)
Cashier: Thank you so much, Sir!!! You have a very pleasant day!! You have a very pleasant day! And after you have that pleasant day, I want you to go back and enjoy it extra hard for me, hear?
Him: Yeah yeah, they need to send all ya’ll back to Africa.
(He leaves. I put my items on the conveyer belt, expecting the same cheerful treatment. In case you haven’t noticed, I am black, and again, so is the Cashier)
Me: Hello!
Cashier: (rolling eyes) My register is closed.
Me: Really? Your light is on and I only have three things.
Cashier: Fine, whatever. I’ll ring you up. Is this all you have?
Me: Yep, that’s it. No Draino today!
(I laugh, she does not. She proceeds to avoid my eyes as she tosses all of my stuff in the bag and then she gives me my total)
Me: Thank you
Cashier: (she ignores me and goes on to the next customer, which is odd, since her register was supposedly closed just a minute ago)
Me: (louder this time) I said, ‘THANK YOU.’
Cashier: What, nigga?? You want a thank you? Fine, THANK YOU. DAMN!

I went back to work and told a couple of people about the incident. Several black people told me that they’ve been in similar situations, where a black worker goes out of their way for the white person and then treats the black person like dirt. Then someone else got me to thinking that maybe ole girl didn’t like my dreadlocks, and developed some bias against me based off of that.

Well, the more I thought about it, the more enraged I felt. So I whipped out my receipt, found out the cashier’s name was Kim (again, not her name), I accessed the ____ Store website and fired off a complaint. I told them what happened and summed it up like this:
This treatment was hurtful because I have no idea what made Kim treat me so poorly, especially since we are both African American women. I was on a break from work, so I was dressed professionally, and as I stated earlier, I was kind to her. I have shopped at this location several times in the past and I’ve never been disrespected before. This was a humiliating experience, especially considering the fact that Kim does not treat ALL customers this way, just the ones who look like her, or perhaps those in which she has developed preconceived notions.

The store sent me an apology today and told me that kind of behavior is not tolerated, and that a manager would take care of that matter. The whole thing still ticks me off, and makes me wonder how many Kims there are in this world.

(Photo from http://www.sonofthesouth.net/slavery/african-american-art/uncle-tom.jpg )

(*Reference to Arrested Development's 'Everyday People)

Craft Show Convos

At this weekend’s craft fair, I was on the hunt for a Father's Day gift and I was unsuccessful. But I got to look at several wonderful pieces of batik art. I even struck up a conversation with the Kenyan artist who created the pieces I'd been admiring. Actually, he did all the talking:

Artist: Dread! Hey Dread!
Me: (looking around, and seeing a dreadlocked man calling out to me) Umm, hey Dread to you too.
Artist: Why you get your hair like that?
Me: Because I felt like it.
Artist: You ain’t one of them rastafarians, are you?
Me: No.
Artist: Oh, good! I’m glad to hear that, my sister. Them rastafarians are crazy.
Me: (admiring a painting of a family) How much does this cost?
Artist: Hmph. Everywhere I go, people wanna ask me if I’m a rastafarian.
Me: I’m sorry to hear that. But how much does this cost?
Artist: I don’t know a thing about Haile Selaise!
Me: So you’re saying this is free, then? I can just walk off with it and you won’t mind?
Artist: Naw, it’s $40. Anyway, these rastas …
Me: Would I be able to get it framed?
Artist: Red, white and green is Africa’s colors, you hear me? They don’t have nothin to do with them rastas.
Me: Right. So $40 will get me the art and the frame?
Artist: Naw, that’ll cost you $60.
Me: I see. How much is this one over here?
Artist: I’m glad to hear you’re not rastafarian. People see you have dreadlocks, they think you one of them. Ain’t that crazy?
Me: This one is free too? Oh wow, thanks so much!
Artist: Naw sis, that one will be $30.
Me: Can I charge it?
Artist: I keep telling them I don’t worship no Haile Selaise. I only worship the Lord God above, sister.
Me: Right.
Artist: People take one look at you and think they know you. I hate that. Don’t you?
Me: Yeah.
Artist: Now, which one of these did you want? I do all my framing right here.
Me: Umm, that’s ok. I’m gonna look around some more. Maybe I’ll check your website.
Artist: Alright, sister. Just stay away from them rastafarians.

Scribbles

I have to go to a ton of meetings for work, and at times, I get a little bored. In times when it's tough for me to avoid falling asleep, I tend to write my signature over and over again in my notebook, then give a pensive look to the speaker. This time, I just decided to do some freewriting in my notebook and it led to a bit of craziness that I'll share here.

This is all from a county budget hearing I had to attend about a month ago:

-Time to google new hairstyles -- A 'fro? twists? cornrows? Find some Dominicans to straighten it when need be?
-Hungry, tired and generally in a bad mood. Evil is more like it
-I am parked in level 3 of gotts parking garage
-Feeling like I should've bought a book
-But of course, I'd get caught and that wouldn't be a good look..
-not for me, not for anyone
-(Muscular government official) isn't here. Sad that I can't stare at the muscles in his back
-Does (female government official) look like Rachael Ray or am I nutso?
-Strength/Courage/Wisdom is cold and tired
-I wonder what her office looks like -- either pristine, or really dirty. Probably pristine
-Oh JOY TO THE WORLD!! His Hotness has arrived.


Certifiably insane rant #1
Meetings
long and boring
nothing accomplished
endless talk
yet you blame me
for sleeping?
You'd be lucky to join in
Call the Sandman.
He's missed you.


Certifiably insane rant #2
Why must I endure this
Boredom?
You drone on and on
No one's riveted
Or even amused
Budget hearings
SUCK.
It had to be said.
I ain't the first
or the last
to want outta this damn place

Certifiably insane rant #3
End this meeting
I beg you.
Your words are dribble
My energy has fizzled
For the love of God
Shut up!
I shake my fist
At bureacracy
racism
anti semitism
and now you
Because you won't shut up.

Certifiably insane rant #4
I'm dying
And no one cares
I'm cold
And they turned on the air
I'm suffering
Yet the meeting continues.
All I can do
is stay awake
And hope no one
ABSOLUTELY no one
looks at my notebook.


And my mission was accomplished. I did NOT fall asleep. Hooray!

For Dreadlocked Girls Who Have Considered Scissors & Relaxers When The Hairdresser Has Had Enough

My world stopped last week when my hairdresser called. She was having an emergency and wouldn't be able to do my hair that evening. The situation was so dire, that she didn't know when she would be able to do my hair again. So I did what I could do, I comforted Hairdresser, offered words of support, then I hung up the phone and ....

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!SCREAMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You see, Hairdresser is a close family friend. Ok, ok, she's family. There was a time when she had her own shop and I was comforted by the nice, easy banter among us women. Sure, I was often abused ('How long are you gonna make me stay here tonight & deal with your wool, Strength?'), interrogated ('Do you have a goal for this hair? Your locs are already down your back!') and teased ('Is this a gray hair or is this your cat? Oh, it's a gray hair!'). My favorite part of the shop was the way said Hairdresser would greet me, with a hand on her hip and a firm "What do you want?"

But all good things must come to an end, I guess. Economics forced Hairdresser to close up shop and start working at The Hair Shop and Salon. Things are different there. For example, someone answers the phone with a robotic "Thank you for calling the Hair Shop and Salon, where we experience beauty and wellness. What are your wellness needs today?"Each time someone washes your hair they say something like "It was my pleasure to service you." Have I mentioned how much they charge? I mean, I expected to pay a pretty penny for this thick head of hair. But they charge extra for EVERYTHING. An extra $10 just to cut the strands off the locs? Seriously?

So when The Hairdresser couldn't do my hair, that left me with few options. I could either go to The Hair Shop or do it myself. (Or obey my mother and get a relaxer) Clearly, I chose the latter. I've washed and styled my own hair before, but I try to avoid doing it because it's such a time consuming process. Thankfully, I did a lot of googling and youtube research to find the best way to get through this head.

Things actually went well, especially since I'm madly in love with my shampoo. I washed, I twisted, I oiled, I blowdryed, I cornrowed. Boy, it took some time! But I managed to get this head in one big ole braid and got nothing but compliments the next day. Hooray!

But I truly need my Hairdresser to return to locking form, with a quickness.


Photo from http://www.naani.com/contents/media/6fd42c7c0.jpg