Crazy Hair Day

As someone who chooses to wear their natural hair, there are things that I things that I've always loved, things that I learned to love and things that I'm still learning, in general. I have learned how to twist my hair out and up and over, disguise perm rods under a cute hat and cocktail my oils and butters, etc. so my curl pattern can truly flourish...outchea. I. AM. OUTCHEA.

However, this ol' job o'mine...I (again) work with children and this calls for me to participate in different themed activities. For example, crazy sock day, pajama day, Dr. Seuss day and worst of all, to me, crazy hair day.

This day is the worst day of all the days at my job. I'd rather have a surprise visit from the state. This day is worse than the day that 7 children, most of them infants, had a major stomach bug. All of their cups runneth over. And still, I'd rather have that then crazy damn hair day.

As someone who prefers protective styles to straight hair and weaves, my hair is often in a fro of some sort. Big Black ass fro. So when it comes to crazy hair day, I'm very particular about how I style my hair. I try not to wear it out in it's natural state, because I don't want these parents or children thinking that my NATURAL hair is crazy. I always try to put some extra ribbons and bows or glitter and color in my hair so they know that this look is "crazy". Not my fro or my curls. I go out of my way to make sure to show the clear separation between crazy hair day and my hair in its natural state.

For example, this past crazy hair day, my hair was already in a twist out. Because I was also prepping for wash day, I put some oil in my hair and on my scalp and ran my fingers through it, which in turn made my fro reach a little bit closer to heaven. I threw some twists in the front and pulled some mismatched ribbons through them and reluctantly went to work. The next day, I was still prepping for wash day because lazy I was tired and didn't get to wash my hair after work that night, I pulled my hair up into a curly puff. Edges laid and everything. I'm working at my desk and the owner of the school comes in the same area to place his keys in the drawer. I can feel him looking at me, so I turn in his direction. He says, "I thought crazy hair day was yesterday," as he lets out a chuckle. I simultaneously turn back to my computer and mumble just loud enough to hear, "my hair is not crazy..."

At that moment I honestly felt a combination of annoyance, aggravation, frustration, hurt, a touch of anger and a little bit of "I knew that shit was gonna happen" sprinkled on top.

Women in general are forced to maintain a look that society deems acceptable at all times. Black women ESPECIALLY are penalized for not accepting and portraying what society wants them to look like. Even to the point where we can't look at each other or ourselves without wondering "why'd she come out the house like that?" with her hair coming out of her scalp the way God intended. If you still don't see the issue, riddle me this; why is it ok for women with straight hair or loose curls to get in the shower without a beloved shower cap, get dressed and go about her day. Her hair never seeing a brush, comb, blow dryer or curling iron, meanwhile women of African descent have to wake up 3 hours early just to arrive late because of their hair? And then, in turn when they get a style that makes their hair more "manageable" they are accused of appropriation by all on looking parties.

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The natural hair movement, shouldn't be a movement. It shouldn't be such a shock when we wear our hair they way it was created at our inception. It just is because we as Black women, constantly have to prove that that the person we are, in our most pure state of self is acceptable. Our hips, lips, curls, kinks, braids, asses and even our complexion have proven anesthesia and dangerous chemical worthy for everyone but us, the people born with these traits. The people who were once paraded around the country and abroad and locked up in zoos and cages for being born with what was perceived as unusual traits, now look on as women who were born with lips that once were barely wider than a sheet of paper and hips that would allow her to easily fit into a ziploc bag are praised for their beauty.

It's astonishing.

I still love my fro. It's soft and enormous and versatile. My heart smiles every time a little girl can relate to my hair and asks her mommy to do her hair like mine. And if I'm making a bold statement by walking around with my hair shaped like the sun, then so be it. I'd prefer it that way any day of the week. And crazy hair day can always kiss my ass, from now until forever.

...dig and be dug...