"What about God?
Why am I alive anyway?
Yeah, what about God?
Nobody can take away
I got my hair, I got my head
I got my brains, I got my ears
I got my eyes, I got my nose
I got my mouth, I got my smile
I got my tongue, I got my chin
I got my neck, I got my boobs"
--Ain't Got No performed by Nina Simone, adapted from the musical Hair.
"Let it fly in the breeze
And get caught in the trees . . .
Hair, flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
--Hair lyrics from the musical Hair.
"I am not my hair"
--Performed by India Arie.
Oh, wait, ain't got no hair, ain't flowing through the trees neither. Because Meghan the hair dresser cut it all off. What was supposed to be a trim with shears turned into a massacre with clippers. An inch or two turned into six or eight. Not my fault people, not my fault, I was clear on what I wanted but then did nothing to stop it. Amazing how one wiggly child can get nerves shaking and short cuts taken. Tsega really needed a trim, everybody kept telling me it was so. It's uneven, all that fuzzy baby hair on top, just a trim, just a little off the sides and top, it's too long . . .
After all, the beauty shop I go to has large numbers of black clients. That is where the black people in town take their hair. The owner is black. Safe, right? Yet when you think about it, I never see any black males in town, young or old, with free hair longer than a 1/2 inch. Jerry's words are still ringing my ears: are you sure she's not just going to run the clippers through it?
I don't mind brushing it out everyday, it's only 5-10 minutes out of the day and I don't mind his fussing. OK, so 1/2 hour to much longer in the tub once or twice a month for thorough comb-outs was getting to us . . . Now it's gone, baby, gone. All those wonderful spiralling curls gone, left on the hair dresser's floor. Swept up and thrown out with garbage. Tsega's magic groove is gone, gone, gone. He's so normal looking now. Yes, still beautiful, for sure. But now he looks so grown up, so man-like. I think he's ready to date. :(
And what really got me depressed? When I announced out loud that his curls will reach out and touch the sky again by the time he is three. Three!!!??? I need a drink . . .
Of course Tsega could care less and will enjoy less hair tugging in the mornings. Sira and Bereket watched with dad from outside the window and when we got back in the car, Sira pulled at his hair and cried. You (and You) next, my dear.