I AM NOT MY HAIR? - CONNECT, A YANASISTERS PUBLICATION

My HairPeace

BY GLORIA MCDANIEL

It's ironic how our selfconcepts around some of the most personal things aren’t formed within ourselves at all, but in the messages we receive from others.

I was in a unique situation. My daddy was a tall, dark-skinned, kinky-haired, Texan and my mom was a smallframed Panamanian woman with a light complexion.

I think my mom hoped for a baby that looked more like her, but needless to say — the Texas side won out and I was born a brownskinned, extra tall girl with semikinky hair that I should have been taught to love. But, that was kind of hard when I heard my mom say – “I wish I had married Richard… then your hair wouldn’t have been so nappy.” I think I was eight when I heard those words during the weekly sit-by-the stove, press and curl with grease burning my neck, Saturday night ritual!

It was at that moment that the complex about my hair began. I don’t think I really noticed all the differences between me and my Panamanian cousins before then. It was a turning point in more ways than one. It was clear that I could never be as pretty as them. Their hair was curly, longer, and much easier to handle. I certainly became super-cognizant of the idea of “good” hair at that point.

This also happened to be the time when the practice of getting “perms” became popular. So, although I didn’t understand what my mama was letting the neighbor do to me in her kitchen – I certainly felt the worst burning I’ve ever experienced and then had to deal with the aftermath, which included most of my hair falling out. Imagine all of this happening by the time I was ten years old.

So what I learned is this: (1) curlier or straighter hair was better than mine, (2) my hair had to have something “done” to it in order for it to be acceptable, and (3) my hair would never be considered beautiful in its natural state. I would actually hide myself when my hair got washed. It was like a sign of being “less than.”

Fast forward to high school. It was the time when everyone was sporting their afros. I couldn’t even do that right. My hair was kinky, but not kinky enough for a cool afro. I couldn’t just let my hair be loose like my cousins, and I couldn’t just wash it and use a pick to make it look cool like Angela Davis’s. I didn’t fit anywhere.

I have tried perms, braids, twists and everything in between. It has taken all these years and all these styles in order for me to finally feel free enough to do WHATEVER I want to do with my hair. My family, society, fashion magazines, and myriad other images and messages from the media have influenced my decisions over time. It’s amazing how much all of this has come to matter to us, to me. There have been times when I have literally worn a style I didn’t like – or passed on wearing my hair in a way that made me comfortable - because I was worried about what others would think.

I’m not proud of the fact that it took nearly 60 years for me to FINALLY come to the realization that I can do what I want. I can cover it up if I want to. I can add hair or sport braids. I can just wash my (finally unpermed for the past 10 years) hair, put on a headband, and go! My choice!

I never told my mom how she made me feel all those years ago when she would compare my hair to that of other family members. I don’t think she knew how damaging her words were to my psyche. Although it has taken lots of years for me to dig out of the “I want any hair other than mine” phase – it finally happened!

These days, I may wear braids, or twists, or a wig, or a headband – but trust me – I have finally gotten to the point where I am happy with my halfway kinky, thin in some spots, un-permed, short but healthy tresses. I don’t let the media or anyone’s comments (this still happens, SMH) prescribe what I do with it either.

I am finally free to just be me and do what I want with MY sometimes-nappy ’do.