NATURAL AGAIN.. My HAIR-STORY  

                                  Part One:"The URGE"

    

     It was March 7, 2007, winter was nearing it's end. Inside my grandmothers comfy abode, I relaxed, warm and safe from the frozen air outside. In my grey sweats and thermal top, covered by a grey stripped tee, I stood in the kitchen in front of the hot stove cooking dinner for my children. 

     I knew someday, that certain moment would come, but I never imagined that it would happen while I was in the middle of frying chicken! But, with a long two pronged metal fork in hand, flipping over a crispy brown thigh in the grease, is when it happened. A Jolt! It ricochet through my body, causing the hairs to raise on my arms, while riddling my body with goosebumps. The tingles vibrated up my legs, back, neck and head, then spread down my arms and into my hands. My fingertips throbbed, feeling so weird that I could barley remove the pieces of chicken from the pan, and place them on the white paper towel that rested upon the platter. Then without waiting for the food to properly cool, I hastily made two small plates and rushed kids to the table, so I could begin my search through my grandmother's drawers. 

     As the children blew on their steaming legs and thighs, I shuffled papers and items about, in my grandmother junk drawers. They weren't the best, but I managed to find a pair of worn scissors my grandmother must've had since her coupon cutting days. The big rusty kind they were, with black lacquered handles. They clanged together a bit loudly, as I sliced them through the air to see if they worked. They were kinda sticking a bit, but not enough to prevent me from getting the job done. The moment was now, THE URGE was pressing and I had no more time to waste. 

     I told myself to wait, because I still wasn't quite finished cooking. But as I stood watching the last few pieces of chicken bubble in the frying pan, I heard a voice in my head. "Come on! Quit draggin' and cut one!" the voice commanded. "Go ahead and see what it feels like". So, I reached up and into my hair. My fingers searched about for a sec,  then grabbed an unsuspecting loc from the back of my head. I opened the shears, and placed it in-between the thick rusty blades. It laid there limp and helpless, almost as if it knew its fate. Then in one swift unexpected motion, the blades sliced closed and… "Shrreeeech!" It was done.  The lifeless loc laid still in my hand, I looked at it, knowing there was no turning back now.

Okay.. Okay.. so I change this story, each time I tell it :)  But, for more or less this is this what happened the day I cut off my locs. Those were my 4th set of locs, I believe. I cut them several times before, but grew new ones immediately after. Each time I cut them off was for a different reason; having a unique big chop story of its own. 

Collectively, I had been natural about 12 years. And at that point in my life, I just needed a change. So, it seems while everyone else was doing the big chop and beginning their journeys towards natural hair. I was doing the opposite and blindly on my way to a place unknown. Ultimately, I just wanted to have my fun with my hair. Not saying I couldn't or didn't have fun with my locs for that matter, because I did. In fact, color was my thing; I rarely wore my locs in their natural tone. But I was at a place where I wanted to experience the many hair-style options that I felt I had been missing for over a decade. Including fulfilling my one hair-fantasy I'd secretly been dreaming of and never had before. Yes! I wanted a… WEAVE! 
Yeah, That's right. I said it… I WANTED A WEAVE! ~ I threw that rock and I'm not running, lol :)

A CHANGE.. is what I needed. I was sooooooo tired, of being the Afrocentric, Neo-nubian queen, that had an over abundance of invites to Open Mic Poetry nights, vegan parties and cultural affairs. I was dulled at attending get togethers with potlucks of hummus and pita bread, falafels or mysterious looking entrees that I was expected to try simply because there was no meat in it. I was weary of all my eat vegetarian food eating friends, incense & oil a-alikes, who greeted me with phrases like "Peace" and "Blessings". And I was especially tired of all the Nag Champa smelling knee-grows as who now flooded the cozy comfy coffee shops, in frayed hemmed jeans & sandals, trying to get philosophical all up in my ears. Bandwagon riding Br-others who thought that because they had locs, that that made them conscious, thus, a sista was supposed to give them some play.

Sigh..

At work, I was equally unenthused. My daily spectating of the call-center bourg-hetto broads in their 27 pieces & $40 quick-weaves, strutting around the office in the latest of Chinatown warehouse fashions, with their knockoff bags, was less than thrilling. Not all my co-workers were this way of course, but enough to be annoyed. And of the annoying posse, the few bold ones, who looked at me in such an abstract way. And, dared to ask (or not ask permission) to touch or feel my locks, as if their OWN roots smothered under glue, stocking caps and plastic... weren't NAPPY! A handful that I had to warn, that if I'd ever,.. Ever.. ever.. ever…come from under my kinky-coily, earthy crown of natural hair, and step into the world of weaves; That I'd have to school them in their own arena of how it really should be done. No, crispidy, crunchidy, glued on skullcaps or ponytails.. for me. Nuff said.

Okay, I digressed. So where was I in my story.. Oh yeah, I was standing at the stove with chicken still cooking, with scissors and a freshly cut loc in my hand. (yeah, back to that)...

     So there I was... looking at my little yellow loc laying dead in my hand. I touched it. Maybe even smelled it. Then placed it on the bathroom counter until I finished cooking. I kept saying "Wow" to myself. I was tripping off the fact that I was really about to cut off my hair, again. But, unlike the previous times, I wasn't about to grow a new set of locs, and didn't know when or if I ever would again. 

     Remembering that my good friend Donnie had just brought a 'Dope' new camera, from the cash prize of a commercial contest he'd recently won. I called him up and asked him to quickly come by with the camera. He arrived half hour later, just as I'd gotten the kids off to bed. By that time a few more locs had already become victim, and laid scattered about on the bathroom sink. Donnie walked in, didn't say much and just began snapping photos. He climbed in the bathtub, stood on top of the toilet and kneeled on the bathroom floor without thought. It was easy to see why he won that contest. So while he snapped away… I looked into the mirror, picked up the scissors and continued cutting. The shards of hair golden hair lightly dropped into the sink. As I cut the last strand, Donnie aimed his camera, snapped another photo, paused. "Wow, you really cut your locs off Indeed. So what's next?" he asked.. 

..I exited the bathroom & returned with an old wig I made back in hair school. "Maybe I'll rock my hair like this..." I said, as I cocked the old wig to the side of my head.  We laughed and laughed. At that moment, I really didn't know what was next for me regarding my life or my hair.. But, I was more than ready to find out.