Good Hair

I’ve worn dreadlocs for the past 11 ½ years. Some see locs as a form of rebellion and an anti-establishment manifesto. For me, deciding to loc my hair was a major step in my journey to total self acceptance. See, I grew up in the age where being "light skinned with long hair and pretty eyes" was the standard by which the black community measured beauty. Debarge reigned supreme on the airways and those who weren't naturally blessed with "good hair" sought refuge in leisure curls, jheri curls, wave nouveaus and good old fashioned super strength relaxers. Nothing could be done for skin color or eye color, but hair? Absolutely. For those outside of the black community, the term "good hair" refers to hair that is curly, soft, wavy, straight. It is often times a byproduct of miscegenation. Take one look at my picture and you will surely conclude that the miscegenation in my blood line was kept to a minimum. Nevertheless, susceptible to the majority, I fell in line and like a good soldier received my war scars of scabbed scalps, over-processed hair, hot comb burns, nights of sleeping on my knuckles, and a rainbow's worth of hair coloring.

I am fortunate to be a first generation American of indigenous Liberian and Guyanese descent. I wear my heritage with unmitigated pride and aplomb. My father is a member of the Kru tribe - hence my nod and mention of his indigenous lineage. He's not part of the repatriated African American contingency - he is through and through, to the bone, uncut, motherland product. My mother was a melange of African, Caucasian and East Indian (Madras) blood. The result of this union produced two deeply chocolate kissed, ample bodied, slightly relaxed wool-like coifed haired children. Given the times, this mean that growing up I felt abnormal.

I moved to New York City in 1996 one week after completing graduate studies at Golden Gate University in my hometown of San Francisco. I could not WAIT to move to New York. I had begun a love affair with the city as a ten year old girl. Back in 1980 my Aunty Shirley ran food services for Macy's at 34th Street. My brother and I spent a Christmas break with her. Every day we'd take the train in from Montclair, New Jersey and would descend into the wintery wonder that was New York City. Can you imagine what Manhattan in all its splendor looked like to a little girl from the city by the bay? It was then that I KNEW I'd return one day. So now it's 1996 and I'm moving to NYC - Brooklyn's Crown Heights neighborhood in particular. I'm excited, yet totally clueless as to how this move will irrevocably change my life.

Ask anyone who has spent any time in NYC and they will tell you the city is overrun with amazingly attractive, stunningly gorgeous, disturbingly exotic men and women. The racial mixes and 100% pure varieties represented there are mind-blowing. While this next statement may seem unlikely given what I previously stated, one of the gifts NYC gave me was a sense of self-confidence and peace with who I was/am. See, I came to a realization that there will ALWAYS be someone who will one up your beauty, intelligence, etc. However, they can NEVER trump your ability to be you. The minute I decided to accept and celebrate my 95% cacao kissed skin, nod to the motherland mane and ample form, people started gravitating towards me. All of the things that made me unique and abnormal had now made me....unique and abnormal. Unique meaning: being the only one of its kind; without an equal or equivalent; unparalleled. Abnormal meaning: not normal; deviating from the usual or typical; extraordinary. New York City's gift to me was the realization that I was one of a kind and extraordinary. Aren't we all? The master creator took care in crafting each and every one of us. Who I am, why I am and what I am, was/is ALL part of HIS master plan. Who you are, why you are and what you are was/is ALL part of HIS master plan. Psalm 139:13-16 tells us so.

I have been unemployed for just over a year now. Quite a few times in the past year well meaning friends and acquaintances have asked “do you think you may be missing out on opportunities because of your hairstyle”? My answer has been “maybe – but having locs doesn’t make me any less qualified than having straight hair makes me qualified”. My hair, good, bad or indifferent is who I am - free, natural, qualified, enlightened, worldly and real! To me, that is good hair.