Lord, Please Give Me Good Hair

When I was around the age of 6 or 7 my mom and I were watching Ike & Tina Turner on some variety show. They'd sing Proud Mary and when they got to the "rollin, rollin', rollin' on the river...doo duh, doo, doo fast part, the Ikettes would join Tina on stage with all this energy and this hair! This straight "white girl" hair. They were slinging it and flinging it. I was mesmerized. I'd never seen anything like it, Black women with "straight hair." In awe I asked my mom...

B: Momma, how'd they get their hair like that?

M: They're wigs.

B : Then how can they shake their heads like that without it coming off?

M: It's sown into their scalp.

B: Thinks, silently: wow that must really hurt...but to have hair like that would be worth it!

"Lord, please give me good hair." That was my prayer as a child. After all, both my sisters had "good hair." Thus being spared the Saturday evening ritual of the hot comb with it's inherent ear holding and singed hair. Life, at least as far as it related to my hair, just didn't seem fair.

How I despised my own unruly hair with it's kinkiness, it's thickness. I hated even more the process I had to endure in order for it to look "good." Or perhaps the fact that I had to go through a process at all fueled my hair displeasure.

My hair felt more like a liability - a punishment rather than something to be proud of. Once processed, I became enslaved to it. "No, I can't go swimming - just got my hair straightened." "No I can't run and play, it'll sweat my hair out." I didn't want to endure my mom's wrath nor the painful wash and hot comb if I didn't have to.

Since God didn't seem to be listening, I fantasized about saving enough money to buy me some hair like Tina Turner or Diana Ross. I vowed to bravely endure any pain associated with getting that straight hair sown into my scalp. Afterall, it couldn't be any worse than what I already endured with my kinky hair.

Little did I know that the hair that graced my head was the very hair I prayed for. That the same thick, unruly, kinky hair I despised was indeed an asset.  I have hair that I can style, grow down my back, cut, curl, krinkle, pin up, swim and exercise in, walk-in-the-rain, ride-with-the-windows-down, wash-whenever-I-want-to, go-to-bed-looking-pretty, wake-up-looking-pretty, or do-absolutely-nothing-and-still-look-pretty-kinda-hair!

Hair that makes me feel good about me. Hair that makes me proud. And, oh yeah, hair that I can sling and fling, just like Tina and the Ikettes!

Thank you Lord for answering prayers, for Sisterlocks, for natural awakenings and for giving me "good hair."

BlaqKofi

(Photographer: T)

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