The voices we hear and the words they say, resonate for our entire lives. Depending on who is speaking, self-worth is in danger if all we ever hear is that something is wrong with the way we are; that something or someone else is "better".
As old as I am, and as recently as a few months ago, someone asked if I was going to "do something" to my hair before I went out.
"You're not going out like that are you?"
I was looked at with what I can only describe as contempt--as if my hair was somehow a source of embarrassment.
Of course I went out. It's been extremely hot this summer. I had no intention to put on a wig, or a hat, or weave up and spend the day fanning and perspiring like a maniac.
My own hair was just fine.
The person's words stung a little, but I figured their opinion of my hair was their problem.
I considered everything that would have prompted the rude remark, but my own feelings prevailed.
What you don't do is allow someone who has issues with themselves to visit those issues onto you.
I knew there was nothing wrong, offensive, or out of order about my hair. As a matter of fact, I was happy about the healthy condition it was in.
Hair has always been a bit of an accessory to me.
Hair has always been a bit of an accessory to me.
I loved playing with dolls as a little girl.
My dolls' hair never stayed the way it was when they emerged from the boxes.
I cut, curled, and braided their hair so much that I actually thought I would be a beautician when I grew up. The time I singed one Barbie's hair on a light bulb let me know that not all hair is conducive to heat--and I actually liked Barbie's new emergency bob.
I recently found a home video of me playing in my mother's hair. Mommy took care of her hair, and although I'd hear the "good hair/bad hair" argument from others, I never heard it from my mother.
She was always looking for ways to keep our hair strong.
I've LOVED the versatility of my hair for as long as I can remember. I've loved the texture and feel of it.
I know when it's doing well. I know when I've neglected it.
I remember when my late mother decided I could do my hair myself. I'd been impatient waiting for my turn to get my hair straightened, so I watched her and learned how.
When I didn't feel like having heat in my hair, I'd cornrow it, or braid it while it was wet, and rock an Afro.
I knew that even if I sat in the kitchen with a smoking hot comb on the stove (cream satin press, or whatever oil was available, and necessary paper towels nearby) and pressed it, I could always wash my hair and it would revert to its natural state.
I'm one of those Black girls who can't swim, and I do believe hair was the reason why. Water would make your hair "go back". It was a while before a blow dryer entered our house. Mommy always let her hair and ours air dry.
I'm a 60's baby, too. Black was suddenly beautiful. Every chance we got, we said it loud that we were Black and proud.
I'm a 60's baby, too. Black was suddenly beautiful. Every chance we got, we said it loud that we were Black and proud.
Who didn't admire the clouds that crowned Angela Davis, Pam Grier, Thelma Evans, or the girls on "Room 222"?
The notion that black hair is still a problem ANYWHERE in the world; that it is standing between girls and their education, makes no sense at all.
The issue when I was in school was easily remedied. The way seats were arranged in classrooms--facing the teacher and the blackboard--presented a problem if someone's blow-out was blocking another student's view. The solution was to move a seat--not to whip out relaxer or a straightening comb.
In disbelief, I read the article about little Zulaikha Patel. I hope she and her South African classmates are victorious against yet another system, and school of thought that penalizes what nature has wrought, elevates one standard of beauty over another, and plants damaging seeds.
It's past time that people stop attacking others for being human, or different than they are.
Who decides what's better and acceptable? Why can't Zulaikha and her classmates have as much pride in themselves as any other student?
What is it about straight hair that fosters learning? The argument is ridiculous.
The words "uncommon bravery" shouldn't have to be used just because a little girl appreciates her hair the way it grows naturally. She shouldn't have to change herself to appease the sensibilities of someone else. She shouldn't be made to feel that she isn't worthy, tidy, or presentable if she chooses to wear her hair naturally.
People tend to belittle what they don't understand, and demean what they covet.
I hope the students at Pretoria High continue to love themselves; stand up for themselves, and speak against the ignorance, oppression, and racism that poisons minds and wounds hearts.
Whether disparaging words come from a teacher, a friend, a family member, significant other, counselor, employer, or stranger, I pray that a greater voice inside prevails and reminds girls everywhere how precious, beautiful and valuable they are just the way they are.
VOICES
VOICES
Silence those voices
Shout them down!
Send them to the depths of Hell
Their source is there
Reject those voices
Drown them out!
Replace them with what's bright, and fair
And true, and kind
Renew the symphony of mind
That plays a nurturing song
Guard your ears, and eyes, and heart
Your worth is great
A work of Art you are, Dear One
Please hear my
voice today
Silence those voices
They are not strong
Theirs is a sad, and desperate state
They know no joy
Pity those voices
And their discord
Refuse to sing their lyrics-- bare
And harsh, and mad
Conduct the orchestra inside
That feeds your soul, and cares
Guard your ears, and eyes, and heart
Your worth is great
A work of Art you are, Dear One
Now sing your song today:
Who are you to tell me how I should be?
Who are you to injure my heart--
To poison how I think, and feel?
Because you don't love you
Should I, then, not love me?
Challenge those voices
They have no power
Your caring
is what fueled their sound
But now you know
And now you're free
Pray for those voices
That one day they'll know harmony
And peace of mind, but until then
Don't ever grant access again
Embrace the band whose music
Compliments the song you sing
Guard your ears, and eyes, and heart
Your worth is great
Please tell me that you know, Dear One
Don’t wonder or suppose, Dear One
A work of Art you are, Dear One
A work of Art to me
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