Happy to be Nappy....As I make my way around this growing diversified city, I notice more proud African-Americans wearing natural hairdos. But I still see the majority of my sista’s with red, blue, and purple hair weaves. I love that we are creative and stylish people but enough is enough. I think it’s time to start the revolution. The hair-a-lution or the solution of our shame. I yearn for the day when little black, white, and Chinese girls can look in the mirror and want this nappy hair. No matter how beautiful or exotic black women are supposed to be we hate this cursed hair of ours. Are we that ashamed of ourselves that the way to show our beauty is with fake blond weaves hanging down to our asses!
Trust me, it took a long time for me to decide to let the relaxer go and start locking my hair. It’s not the easiest hair to run your fingers through or jump out of the shower and swing it and you’re done. But is it that awful that the majority of the black women I see aren’t wearing their natural hair? Not that relaxed hair is au natural either but at least before it was just about taming our hair a little not wearing a complete disguise. Have we completely bought into European standards of beauty that we don’t even know what ours is. I thought black was beautiful. It’s ok for American society to start talking black and acting black and listening to our music and tanning themselves to a crisp but We sho’ don’t want that hair.
Growing up with these humid ass summers, I loved to swim. I went damn near everyday and by summer’s end I was usually ten shades darker and my hair was usually frizzled and fried from the chlorine reacting with the chemicals in my hair. But I didn’t care because I loved to swim. The coolness of the water, the freedom of feeling like a fish, and playing in the water with friends. Yet, so many of my friends didn’t want to go because they didn’t want to get their hair wet. “Your eight years old, who cares what your hair looks like”, I wanted to yell? Or even when we were required to take swimming at our predominantly white High School so many girls were willing to get an F because of their hair.
A guy I worked with so eagerly shared with me how he was lucky for not being black because we couldn’t go to the beach. Excuse me? Oh so I got this rich brown skin blessed with melanin from cowering in caves for all those years? I came from the sun, the heat, the dessert, and yes even the jungle.
When I told a friend of mine that I was beginning to grow locks, she said, “They probably look good on you but girl I would look like Tracy Chapman.” “Well what’s wrong with Tracy Chapman?” But of course, she has dark skin, full lips, and that dreaded nappy hair. Oh stupid me, how dare she be considered beautiful.
All my life I’ve had to hear the term “good hair” used. And my question still remains what the hell does that mean? Does it behave when you yell at it? Does it have the good manners this nappy hair doesn’t? Because that’s definitely the problem I have with this “bad” hair. It just doesn’t act right or obey me. I don’t know what to do other they call Dr. Phil and ask him to please help me with all this unruliness I can’t seem to control.
I don’t know why God decided to give African people coiled and kinky hair. My question is why do I have to be ashamed of it?
One day a white girlfriend while pregnant with her son actually mustered up the gall and said to me, “I hope his hair doesn’t come out all nappy”. Is that so? Will you love him any less if he does? You rub up against his father’s nappy hair every night without complaints. Living in this still prejudice world there are no other issues concerning you about your half black child other than if his hair is nappy?
Even though I see a lot of bi-racial children blessed with curly, wavy, and silky hair, I’m sure to their mothers delight, is there anyone telling them they are beautiful not because of their hair and light skin but of being a product of two worlds that found love for one another in spite of. Or are they being told they are more beautiful and special than their nappy headed all black friends?
I remember my fifth grade black English teacher explaining to a white teacher how black hair is actually more delicate than silky hair. Now I know that is hard for all the silky heads to believe but it’s true. Years of my hair falling out from hot combs, jherri-curls, and relaxers kept in too long to get that ultra straight silky shiny head affect I thought we were all supposed to achieve. I couldn’t get my hair to grow past my ears from globs of hair coming out as I picked at the scabs on my scalp.
I came across another regal earthy sista with locks one day and she complimented me on mine and she said, “I say it’s the truth.” I didn’t ask her what she meant but I know she meant the true us, the true me, our true beauty. And I know the lie is that nappy is ignorant, ugly, and backwards.
White girls may think it’s fake breast and Asian girls may think it’s a crease in their eyelids to look more western and black girls think it’s synthetic strands that swing, but I’ve finally found the true secret to beauty. And it’s just loving me.
Damnation On one of my many sleepless nights I came across a television evangelist vehemently preaching about God’s word and his great expectations for our poor souls. I usually pass up such spewing but I decided to give the pastor a chance at his persuasion. And as I likely figured I could have my soul saved and my prayers answered if sent a thousand dollars to this ministry.
As I child, I was a faithful Sunday school goer and member of a church I loved. I know it takes money for utilities, building and the benevolent fund that I hoped reached needy members. But am I supposed to give into the fear of burning in eternal damnation for not emptying my pockets or back account
I’m sorry that I can’t completely believe in the bible telling me how I’m supposed to live. I don’t think the bible was written by as circus freak but it amazes me how we are so afraid of the unknown that in order to keep ourselves in order we throw a book that has been manipulated and misconstrued to explain the meaning of life. I’ve always had trouble with this structured existence of what I’m supposed to be doing and how. Life didn’t look so bleak when I was younger. It wasn’t perfect but I definitely didn’t take heed to adults telling me to stay young and never grow up. Because being responsible for yourself and your actions and your life and future is not easy. I’m trying my best to make sense and happiness out of life full of pretense and plasticity.
My very best friend growing up went to a radically different church than I did. She completely terrified me one day when she invited me over to listen to a tape of a woman who God let go to hell so she could come back and report to our lost souls that eternal damnation is real and if you don’t pass out in church, speak in tongues, be obedient to what God tells you and give your 10 percent of your income to the church your going down and it’s bad.
Now after I left her house needless to say I was afraid of my own shadow. After sitting there for two hours and listening to evil persons screaming and crying for help I needed to figure out how to please this almighty God. But I couldn’t help wonder how at the age of 14 knowing I had never killed anyone, stole anything significant, or cheated and lied for self gain I couldn’t understand how I could burn in the same eternal fire as Hitler and Charles Manson .
So going to Sunday school way too early every Sunday morning and obeying my parents and being a good little girl for my teachers didn’t score me any brownie points? God must be a very tough guy. (The fact of him being a guy is a complete other rant.) Which scared the hell out of me because I may have been an obedient child but I definitely never liked doing what everyone else did, think like everyone else and here I realized God had all these damn rules and regulations I just didn’t agree with.
My friend went back and forth being saved then unsaved then in a couple months after she had been suspended a couple times or after she stole money out of her mother’s purse she would be swept away to the pastors house and prayed over and the next day in school when I wanted to about the newest video on BET. She couldn’t because she was saved last night. Again she swore to stop all her evil ways and would no longer steal from all the stores she wasn’t allowed in anyway because of her reputation, or talk back to her mom or all the teachers she disrespected in front of as many students as possible.
Well, okay great but please remind me why I’m going to hell when I’ve been doing all that shit anyway. So just because I don’t read the Bible that I really can’t comprehend or at least make up my own meaning to be pushed on more naïve individuals, or go to church four times a week and on Sundays sit there until about five o’clock when I desperately want to be out in the fresh air that God has so made for us, my flesh will burn and my pain will be unbearable?
So is this fear the reason why George Bush can preach about morals and values out front while destroying countries in the background and no one says anything because those horrible people over there don’t believe in our God?
Well hopefully before I die I can start making some real money because God sure seems expensive and a little too demanding.
Self-WorthHow do I find self worth without a degree and a million letters after my name MD, PHD, RN, Ed, BBD. I know my worth doesn’t exist in what college I went to or what sorority I should have pledged. But as the bills pile up and I realize all the mistakes I’ve made it’s hard to see that happy ending. The mistake of not knowing what I wanted to do at the age of 18 fresh out of a High School. Fresh from a small town that thinks Pittsburgh is a fast city. I want to know why the world is so fucked up and while no one has the answers it’s supposed to be so obvious to me that it is God’s plan and I shouldn’t question it.
What exactly is God’s plan? For black people to still remain the most disenfranchised, demeaned and uneducated people in this country. As if it’s not this country’s plan. His plan must be for white men in blue suits with privileged lives and educations to shape my life and my community and my self worth. No one should be in charge down here. That’s why I can’t sing I’m so proud to me an American because at least I know I’m free. Free from what. Ok so I can say what I want (sometimes) and (supposedly) love who I want and (possibly) even live where I want. But things haven’t always been equal here not that they still are. Why can’t I be of the earth and from the earth? I don’t feel like this is my country, I feel like it’s my world.
