A Hairy Situation

I was one of those Moms who SWORE she would never braid her daughter's hair. I clearly remember as a child, when one of the big girls in our grand parents Gary, WVA neighborhood, took me and my sister to get cornrows. We loved her and looked up to her like a big sister - and she'd happily let us tag along wherever she went. That day she decided to change up our hair. My father grew up in the segregated south and I guess had clear opinions about showing your "blackness." Dad's a good guy but he obviously carries those experiences and opinions with him to this day. Well, his horrified reaction on that day sealed my opinion. We immediately had to take the braids out of our hair and I never had braids again.

Flash-forward 30-some years and here I am, the mother of a beautiful, fuzzy-headed two-year old girl. A little girl, not with the thick, silken tresses of her aunt Dee, or the equal parts kink and curl of her mom, or even the beautiful long ebony ropes of her cousin Eliza. No - when asked to describe an actor with my daughter's hair so a friend could get a visual, I responded "Yaphet Kotto." My beautiful little girl who makes my heart burst with love, has a head of hair that mommy can't manage!

All of those mixed feelings about my Dad and his obession with "hair, ethnicity, etc." came back to me. Was I projecting the same thing on to my daughter or was I simply being realistic? Her fuzzy, sandy brown locks are simply hard to manage. When I wash it, it shrivels up to cotton ball status and takes more than a few carresses and nudges to mold it into a form I am satisfied with.

And cornrows? Why they have become my best friend. It's one of the few things I can do to make her hair look neat and organized. My friends and family are amazed that I can even braid hair - and though not an expert by any stretch, my daughter does look adorable when Mommy is done. It's one of the looks in my style arsenal that includes braids, fuzzy pom-poms, an occassional twist and plenty of big, giant bows, that are becoming her trademark!

My father's reaction - why he thinks she's the most beautiful, smart, amazing little girl he knows, along with her cousin Eliza. Strangely, he doesn't see fuzz, he only sees love. Every picture sent is greeted with an awe of admiration and wonder. She is his grandchild - and she is perfect.

And maybe that's the lesson. When I look at my daughter the biggest thing I see is love; how she makes my heart so happy; how every day I thank God for bringing such a perfect little angel into my life. The fuzzy hair, the temper tantrums, the strong opinions on clothes and shoes (at two!), the still occassional late night wake-up calls, the never taking a nap on Sundays, are all part of the wonderful things that make her who she is.

I love them all and I accept them all - now, please pass the hair grease!