Since I was a child, my hair has been a source of interest for those who are not me.
It began with “What pretty redhair you have! Where did you get that from?” and was mostly facilitated by little old ladies attempting to create their own versions of red hair. Sadly, the ladies probably should have said no to the box, and stuck exclusively to the woman who did their curls.
As I got older, I wanted to dye it. Anything but red. The only redhead in my generation was Ariel, and since I didn’t have fins, I wasn’t about that life. Although my daughter did comb my hair with a fork last week.
My mother vehemently told the hair stylist that highlights were not an option, nor was changing my pretty red hair.
“Why don’t you leave it like that? It’s so pretty curly. I wish I had curls. I wish I had volume.”
My hair has always been a source of conversation. I’m a ginger, my mom’s a ginger and my baby is a ginger. Hail Gingers!
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that having red hair is a good uniqueness to have, because who doesn’t want to be me. cough cough, well then.
Vanity aside, it’s taken awhile to come to terms with this beast of a mane that is mine. Keep reading for a comparison of me and Mufasa later. Yet now at 30, I still struggle with wearing my hair curly. Why can’t a girl just get it together already!
I went to bed with curly hair last night and the husband commented “I wish you wore it curly more often, it’s so big. If Christina Aguilara can do it, so can you.” I didn’t point out the flaws in his reasoning, I just went to sleep. This morning when I woke up I looked like a drowned rat, you know its just what happens to curls at night. So this morning when he woke up and walked in on my blow drying my hair straight, I know the question was “What happened to the curly?” The truth is, it was just too much today.
If I’m going to wear my hair curly, I have to be ready for what that brings. I kid you not people touch it. Boy student children want to touch it. When I taught at a primarily African American school I understood the touching, because I had white girl hair. Theory no longer applies. They also want to know why it is so big, how do I get it that big, and whether this is my sex hair. But more than any of those awkward turtle conversations, is that there are conversations. About my hair. During school. At the grocery store.
It’s weird. Does this happen to other people?