Years ago, I was asked to review Weaving a Family: Untangling Race and Adoption, a book about transracial adoption written by Barbara Katz Rothman, a white Jewish sociologist, who is the adoptive mother of a black child. I’ll admit that initially, I copped an attitude. If she doesn’t say something about black hair, I’m going to be so over this book.
And then the book arrived, and there on the cover were white hands braiding thick, black hair. Inside, Rothman had devoted an entire lovely chapter to hair–including how when her adopted daughter came to be a certain age, her black neighbor told her, “Barbara, it’s time,” and introduced her to hair grease and cornrows.
Indeed, black hair has its own politics. (Don’t believe me? Consult any number of books on the subject. Better yet, you only need to read one: Bulletproof Diva: Tales of Race, Sex, and Hair by Lisa Jones. Jones, coincidentally, is the daughter of poets Amiri Baraka and Hettie Jones (author of How I Became Hettie Jones, another fine read)). So, I think it fitting to include a little meditation on hair as part of our celebration of Black History Month.
Below is a piece I wrote in 2006 for a now-defunct parenting-related website with a predominantly white readership. The feedback was overwhelming and overwhelmingly positive, including some white mothers of black or biracial (depending on how they identified) children asking for advice or thanking me for addressing the issue.
Interestingly, the one piece of negative feedback came from a black woman who needed me to know three things: she was older than me; she was a licensed cosmetologist; and she had earned her early childhood creds providing childcare as part of a program sponsored by the federal government. Because of these credentials, I was supposed to take her sage advice and relax my daughters’ hair to end the “torture” I was inflicting upon them by keeping it natural…
People are strange.
Hair Today…
by Deesha Philyaw
Today is Hair Day. I will wrangle two-year-old Peyton in order to remove the beads from her hair, unbraid it, wash it, rebraid it, and put the beads back on—all in the face of her protests, periodic snack and meal breaks, and the necessary Pull-up changes. I will pray for her to fall asleep, but she won’t until about the last 20 minutes or so. The whole process will take the better part of our day.
At my house, hair day has a long and troubled history. For years, despite countless beauty products, gadgets, and more patience than I ever knew I had, my older daughter Taylor (now 7) dreaded hair day. Hair Day meant hour upon hour of having me wash, blow dry, comb, part, braid—mess with—her hair, while she had to sit and hold her head just so. And it hurt.
I can hear the uninitiated asking, Why go through all of this trouble? Well, I don’t have much choice in the matter. In a culture that rarely includes my daughters in its beauty standard, I must counter that narrow standard with affirmation. I want my girls to look neat and feel positively about themselves, including their hair. Just as basic care for long hair by definition requires more time than caring for short hair, black hair that is not chemically treated requires a lot of TLC. I hope that in time my girls understand that all of the time and attention we give to their hair is borne of necessity and not vanity.
Entire books have been written on the care, feeding, and politics of black hair. I cannot do the topic justice in such a limited space, but I can summarize with this: Hair day is best taken with a nice glass of white wine (for me, not my daughters). The white wine takes the edge off of the squirming and the complaining. It soothes the generations-old legacy of whole days spent between mama’s knees or at the beauty salon, of harsh chemicals and happy Easter press ‘n curls. It tempers the whisper that says “black hair hurts,” and invites the reminder that black hair is beautiful.
In addition to employing a gentle hand on Hair Day, I have also shared with my girls picture books which celebrate their hair. I Love My Hair, Nappy Hair, and Wild, Wild Hair all feature little black girls, their lovely, versatile hair, and not-so-lovely Hair Days. All are appropriate for even the youngest children, though the rhythmic Nappy Hair offers most in the way of socio-political commentary. Its heroine gets teased about her hair, but a wise uncle reminds her that her hair survived the long journey from Africa and one curl of it “is the only perfect circle in nature.”
About a year ago, I proudly entered a new era of Hair Day history, reducing my Hair Day Drama by over 50%. Taylor decided to get her hair locked (dreadlocked) like mine, which means one trip to the hairdresser (Miss Dionne) every six weeks or so for maintenance. There are still some tender-scalp tears as Miss Dionne twists the locks, but these are short-lived. And in between visits, my only interaction with Taylor’s hair is to add colorful beads or recommend the occasional headband.
Even as I revel in this new era, friends frighten me with tales of their adolescent and pre-adolescent daughters who have become preoccupied with their hair and overall appearance (and boys!) seemingly overnight. I know some of this is a normal part of child development, but it brings back not-so-fond memories of my own teenage misery and fretting about how I looked, if boys would find me attractive, and if I “measured up.” I didn’t look anything like the Beautiful People on TV and in magazines. I needed someone to let me know I was pretty and likable, so that I could feel better about myself.
My hope for my daughters is that they would weather the storm of adolescence without such a relentless search for their self-worth in the eyes of others. I want them to be healthy in this regard, and “healthy” lies somewhere between the self-loathing some women and girls feel toward their bodies, and the obsession with bodily “perfection” based on unrealistic beauty standard popularized by our media-saturated culture. As parents, I believe we can counter the cultural lie that beauty comes only in size 0 packages with straight, blonde hair and fair skin, without overemphasizing beauty itself. At our house, we do this in part by reading books like I Love My Hair and discussing all that is wonderful about black hair.
It’s a delicate balance, but I want my girls to love what grows on top of their heads, but care even more about what’s inside them.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
You are in the midst of a blogathon celebrating 32 Days of Black History! Yvette at Six Impossible Things…and I are joined by InkogNegro,Christina, Chris, and Tami. Visit, comment, bookmark!
This entry was posted
on Thursday, February 7th, 2008 at 10:30 am and is filed under 32 Days of Black History, Mama-hood, Offspring, Race Matters, Wordsmithin'.
You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
February 7th, 2008 at 10:44 am
Good Post.
Unfortunately, the best I can offer is…I am glad I only have Boys.
February 7th, 2008 at 2:42 pm
I can absolutely relate to Hair Day. I have now turned Hair Day into one that includes the three male members of our household: Daddy shampoos, older brother blowdries and baby brother threads the “beader” once the braids are completed. This is a wonderful bonding time and when folks compliment my daughter’s hair (as they do often), everyone takes pride in knowing that they all had a role in celebrating and protecting her beauty.
February 7th, 2008 at 2:59 pm
Goldengraham:
As I read your comment, the song “It’s a Family Affair” started running through my head.
What a wonderful way to do Hair Day!
Welcome! I’m glad you made it “in.”
February 7th, 2008 at 6:33 pm
Goldengraham that was beautiful! Talk about everyone in the family affirming your daughter’s beauty.
February 7th, 2008 at 6:35 pm
Deesha,
Great post! You know I have a thing about hair. Little over a year ago, I began wearing my hair “natural.” In fact, I am twisting my hair as I surf the Net this evening. Hair day for girls–big and little–can be a chore, but it can also be a lovely affirming ritual. That said, I agree with inkonegro, that mothering girls thing looks like hard work! I watch my sister balance her hair and that of my two nieces, ages 6 and almost 2. It’s all I can do to look half-way decent myself.
I imagine hair stuff is even more of a trial for white moms of black children. Since I wrote my post about hair on Antiracist Parent, I have received several e-mails from moms of adoptive black children asking for hair help.
February 7th, 2008 at 8:39 pm
I can only imagine Deesha what Hair Day must be like for you! I’m still writing about my own personal hair days and I’m a grown woman with dreadlocks! My daughter was virtually bald her first 2 1/2 yars of life - which was one of the many reasons I dreaded. I simply couldn’t see having to have 2 hair days in one household. Genetic roulette had different ideas for both of my children’s hair. Imagine - I could still be sporting that blow-in-the-wind silky do! (NOT!)
February 7th, 2008 at 9:49 pm
Goldengraham, that is awesome! I agree with Deesha–it is wonderful. I have to admit something. My first thought was: How can I get *my* husband to participate like this? But after thinking about it I now think I might not want him to. Is that evil? I think I have grown to look at this time with my two daughters as mine and mine alone…
February 8th, 2008 at 6:23 am
Goldengraham: I echo everybody’s sentiment here about involving the whole family. That’s one of the best images I’ve called into my over-active imagination in a long, long time! I’m not going to describe it, you’ll all laugh at me.
Then, I began to think about what Yvette said. Having never had to do the long and involved hair day with a child, I surely can appreciate the notion of continuing and modifying these women’s rituals. (So they feel a tad less violent to our girl-children…my personal perspective…having been thwapped with a comb many a time for he sake of tidiness - not to mention “beauty.”) From a purely intellectual standpoint, hair and hair days take up a huge physical, emotional and spiritual place in the lives and psyches of Black women.
Which leads me to wonder - in what ways do we unconsciously raise our children differently based upon their gender?
As the mother of a son, in Goldengraham’s scenario I see her sons helping their sister as a tangible method of instilling an understanding of, respect for and ability to nurture Black women. I see a method for them to realize that this is hard work which must be done patiently and lovingly. (Yes, I have found myself saying, ‘I’m not having some woman call me on the phone one day to complain that you can not pick up your underwear.’)
As the mother of a girl child, I could see how this might feel as if I were opening the door to some great woman’s mystery wherein we - as women - connect to, untangle, and sort through organize and connect ourselves to powerful ancestral lines.
Anyway - mornings are beautiful. Oxygen has a wonderful effect on the brain. Peace ya’ll.
February 8th, 2008 at 10:13 am
Christina, I like how you put things, particularly the idea of hair rituals taking up a big “place” in Black women’s lives physically, emotionally and spiritually.
I think part of the reason I may have such a protective gut reaction about keeping this as “mine” is because of the passing over the last several years of several of the adult female elders in my extended clan. As a child I never was interested in participating in rituals with the women folk. I’d rather read or write stories or listen to music off by myself, or play with friends/cousins, or watch sports with the adult men than hang out in the kitchen or wherever the women were. I definitely was not interested in my, my dolls’ or anyone else’s hair.
So now that these women are gone, I feel I have missed a chance to learn stuff from them. And maybe I am trying to reclaim some of the “circle of women” stuff with my girls.
Hmmm… This is getting long so I’m going to stop here. I feel an entire “hair day” post in my near future LOL!
February 8th, 2008 at 5:39 pm
LOL, Deesha. Yes, I finally made it in and what great company.
Thank you all for your comments. This is a wonderful and much needed discussion. I absolutely understand the need to protect the feminine dynamic, but I found myself more agreeable when the fellas took about an hour off of the bonding process (smile).
February 8th, 2008 at 5:45 pm
So glad for this discussion! When I started this blog, I hoped to build a community of sorts for precisely this kind of exchange of ideas and camaraderie.
February 12th, 2008 at 10:06 am
Did you see the essay “Textured” in the fall issue of Brain, Child? It’s fabulous — they actually posted this one online (which I wish they would do with more of their content, but that’s another conversation!).
http://www.brainchildmag.com/essays/fall2007_friedman.asp
February 12th, 2008 at 10:32 am
Hi, Annie…
I didn’t see this, but I know the author so I’m going to strangle her for not tooting her horn on this one.
Thanks for the link.
February 12th, 2008 at 11:12 pm
That was a great article! Both my son and daughter have “good hair,” but, it still took 45 minutes to an hour to comb out. (I was so thankful when my son finally chose to ct off his shoulder length ringlets.) Compared to my own experience and the stories of friends, I thought “well, aren’t I a lucky camper! This is how it must be for white people. How great to only spend an hour doing hair!”
My daughter is in cosmotology school. Recently she informed me that the Black students have seen me and know I’m her mother. Suddenly, they’ve been more “protective” of her. Anytime they see a White student messing in her hair - they saunter over to offer advice. Afterall - she has “nap hiding out up under all that good hair.” “They’ll never learn what to do with it!”
So - suddenly - I no longer feel guilty sweating the daily hour and feeling as if I ought to be more greatful to the Gods Of Genetic Roulette.