HairTraversy

I admittedly haven't seen the firestorm of comments about how much sistahs would like to snatch Gabby by her roots and straighten her hair out. Serena Williams was quoted as saying it's just "ridiculous" and Gabrielle Union kept it salty with her #ByHaters hash tag (that any of us card carrying Wade female fans could care less about--but I digress). I get goosebumps just to see another black girl standing on the shoulders of Dominique Dawes, opening the doors for other black girls to look into this non-traditional sport. It's not cheer leading and it's not hip-hop dance but it can take you further than those two avenues of self expression ever will.

That being said, any self-respecting Black woman worth her weight in perms, weaves, or kinky hair has got to admit that when we first saw Gabby our fingers got to itching. One eye may have started twitching at the sight of this lone black girl sitting among her white counterparts, all with slicked back hair thinking "where is this child's mama and why did she let her out the house with that untamed mane?!" I am not here to dispute the fact that focusing on this 16 year old's hair should be the least of our concern. We should actually be thinking how we can support Dominique Dawes' efforts to bring health and exercise to urban cities. We should be asking our elected officials to put soccer fields and baseball fields in our neighborhoods along with more swimming pools. But I digress.

At day's end, tw must eventually admit to ourselves and the world that we truly have a love/hate relationship with our hair and others in our culture stand by and love/hate it too. These others usually don't include our white or latino counterparts who are more curious about our hair and ask a million questions if given the chance. These others usually don't include or black brothers. They are usually clear about their preferences and stick to what they like. It's our sistahs that we get the funny looks from and the "I can't believe she..." smirks from.

I have had Sisterlocks for 6 years now and am thoroughly feeling my hair these days. I enjoy the texture, the length, and the feel of each nub as I twirl and twist them randomly to calm or soothe my nerves. I get a lot of pleasant comments, men and women alike want to see how it feels--but that wasn't always the case. When a girlfriend took the Sisterlocks routes, she warned me about the phases and how people would react. She wasn't lying. I had black women (of ALL cultures) ask me is that the way it's supposed to look, why were they so tiny, and my ultimate favorite: "so you're not ever perming your hair again" followed by a look of pity. Those who saw my pre-locked pictures on my mantle would marvel at my wedding pics with jet black hair in a shoulder length smooth wrap or my Halle Berry precision cut raked to the side--fierce! They would comment on how pretty my hair looked. What they really meant to say is "If you had any sense you would cut them ropes out your hair and slap a perm in that bad boy." My own dear mother just recently pulled out her Bible (cause all "Zoe Lady" Christians never pass judgement without the Bible at hand) and proceeded to make mention of the fact that God's Word prohibited hair extensions and that a woman's beauty should be natural. The shock on her face when I told her there was no extensions taking up space on my hair is one for the record books! "But how can your hair be that long?" she marveled. So if my own mama can have prejudice to her only daughter's hair, I leave nothing to chance with other black women.

I too itched to get my hands on Gabby's hair and I had to do some soul searching on how me who has experienced the ugly looks about my teeny afro and budding locks could still evoke that same energy on another. If we as black women (and I mean ALL black women, regardless of culture) are absolutely truthful with ourselves we must first acknowledge that Western culture has not been too kind to us. From the days of house versus field negroes to light versus dark, to the masters children getting the best--we have allowed the class system to divide us. Be it white american or european influences, we have been indoctrinated to believe lies about ourselves. And our hair has been the battling ground. What makes us gravitate towards straight hair, pretty eyes or fair skin as little girls forsaking the hues of mocha, caramel and chocolate? Preferring to comb a flaxen-haired Barbie doll and to leave the curly haired one to the side thinking it was just "too much work" to get that hair right. Who among us didn't walk around the house with a towel on our head swinging it back and forth like one of the divas on the prime time soap operas?

I didn't start this blog professing to have the answers. Yet it doesn't help to just antagonize each other for comments that may have come from a good place. My mom always taught me to put my best foot forward when I step out in public because I represent her. That meant I had to iron jeans and Tshirts when my white college roommate just pulled hers on and was out the door. And I still carrying this mind set today. Now her idea of a best foot may include perming my hair and not wearing pants--neither of which is going to happen. But I get the point nonetheless. Our mothers have taught us to make sure we represent, our girlfriends won't go out with us until we change that blouse or skirt, and our mentors "tsk, tsk" about our choice in shoes.  If we would only just find a better way to express these things without a maelstrom of media trying to figure out why black women are downing each other over hair?  It's hard enough being black, let alone a black woman, and our hair plays a big part in how we come across to people.  Some of the comments have been well-meaning, but I'm afraid that others have been truly unforgiving and uncalled for.  When my brother and I would get into childhood fights, my mom would remind he was the only one I had and that I shouldn't be so mean to him.  Well ladies, we are the only ones we have so please let's drop the "mean girls" status. Give Gabby, Serena, Venus, Viola, thecreative teen you are raising, your quirky sister, and that flaky friend of yours a break.

My instructional manual (the infallible Word of God) said I was fearfully and wonderfully made. That my God knew me before I was formed in my mother's womb that He has ordered my steps and that every place I walk belongs to me. That any weapon (in the form of mean words or social slights) would not harm me. Once I figured out my Maker was happy with me-worts and all and that He was willing to help me work through my personal mess--be it low self-esteem, shame, or lack of self-confidence, I was alright. But not everyone has been equipped with that stalwart sense of self-esteem, so keep that in mind when we are slinging words all over the place about our sisters.

This love/hate thing we have with ourselves projects onto others and as much as we want to make it about others, it's a litmus test about self. I am a natural haired sister who had to  learn that my weaved up and permed sisters are not of the devil and that they have as much right to their choices as I do. The Western world has gotten over much of what we are still battling with in regards to self-image. When a white woman, a perfect stranger, stops me to say that my eyes, hair, or complexion is beautiful I am left speechless and I blush all the way to my roots--because in this day and age we don't hear enough of that from our own. Gabby and every other black girl deserves to hear it and they deserve to hear more from us.