My parents would always tell me about stories about my childhood. One such story happened to revolve around my hair. They used to tell me how I was born with a head full of dark curly hair.
“The nurses used to love you,” they would say. “Every time the nurses got a hold of you, you came back with a different hair style.”
Pre-kindergarten my hair was adorn with beads and barrettes. But my kindergarten I was wearing mini extensions. The extensions used to pull on my hair so much that it pulled it right out. I can still remember holding up my pulled out hair with the beads still connected.
I was left with a long-term bald spot in the back of my head. Then a little while later, I was the flower girl in my uncle’s wedding. So I went to the hair salon and had my hair straightened with a hot comb.
When I was nine or ten years old, I begged for a perm. So that I could chemically straighten my hair. I thought that it would help my hair to grow. Once the perm settled in my for a while it began to burn. I still remember the pain from the burn.
For the next ten years, I straightened my hair…With perms, with flat irons, and hot combs. I tried my hardest to iron out the kink from hair. To remove the self-evident truth: I have kinky hair.