Okay, so I’ve never been a fan of a whole lot of hair color. Not knocking it, just hasn’t been my thing. I tried it once in college and thank God my school colors were blue and orange and it happened to be spirit week because I rocked the later for a minute until I saved enough money to go to a professional salon to get it fixed. Then there was the time in 2002 when I ended up with a pumpkin on my shoulders in the middle of summer. I guess this chocolate complexion just isn’t conducive to hair color, other than jet black. So you can understand my surprise to have a hair color conversation with my 3-year-old. Where does she get this stuff?
We were casually looking through pictures of children and she asked me to stop on one little girl she mistook for one of her favorite classmates. When I explained her mistake she smiled and said, “I like her hair. What color is that? It’s not brown.” Duh, now it’s time for my mistake, because I really didn’t catch on to her enthusiasm. “No, honey, it’s blonde.”
“Blonde,” she says. “I like blonde.” Sure, blonde is cool, I thought, but so is sandy brown or off black, the color of her hair. “I’m going to make my hair blonde when I get big,” she says. Words cannot express my dismay. I mean really, really Morgan, blonde.
Now before all my blonde hair friends get offended, please try to understand that this is comical, but quite serious. See the dilemma is that I want her to accept people for who they are, and judge by the content of their character and not the color of their skin or hair. But that has to begin with self-acceptance. I am determined to raise her to be happy with who she is and what she looks like despite the negative depictions of African American women in this world. I mean, even my First Lady has been demeaned for her booty and her hair.
I can honestly say, I have never cared too much about hair. I don’t like doing it, don’t like getting it done and don’t put too much thought into it. I cannot say the same for my daughter. She calls her auntie and makes her own hair appointments for braids and beads. She reminds me on Sundays it’s time to wash and style and asked for a styling doll for Christmas. Do you know how difficult it was to try to find a styling doll with some color? It’s virtually impossible and the one we ended up with has a slight tan and hair like a traditional Barbie. Apparently, the demand for the tanned one is a lot less too, because it sold for about $20 less than all the others. How come I can’t find one with kinky, curly, black hair? How come I can’t find one that looks like chocolate?
I read in the newspaper a few weeks ago that a local trade school has added natural hair to their repertoire of styling professions. And while at a hair salon last week, my stylist told me to be on the look out for a natural hair salon real soon. This sounds great, maybe I can sign Morgan up for a tour.
If my daughter is dead set to be blonde years from now, I’d be her biggest supporter. Until then, I will sound the alarm everyday on how absolutely beautiful, her slightly kinky, curly, off black hair really is.