Oh Brother! What have you done now?

by Halima
(Princeton, New Jersey, United States)

When I was younger I used to wear my hair in long beautiful braids using extensions, and when not doing so I would wear it in some other cute style. Each year at my elementary school we had a flag ceremony indoors, and as a member of the student council, it was a few others and my duty to preform it for the underclassman. This year was particularly special to me as I would be making the move from the mid west to the east coast.

The night before, I was told by my mother to take out my braids after having them for a few weeks. Knowing the good 2 hours or so it would take, I dutifully began the grueling process of taking out my braids, one by one. I was told to cut the ends off, where I knew my own hair wasn't.

I glanced to the side and saw my twin brother lazily playing on the computer, it was then that I asked him to help, a request I would unknowingly regret. He refused, my mother insisted. I should listened to my gut, listened to my instincts, payed more ATTENTION, as he slowly picked up the scissors and began to cut the braids, and then unwillingly unbraid my hair.

It was not until later, as I proudly announced to my mother that I had finished the task, that it was made aware by her angry words, that the hair in the back of my head, where my brother had unbraid and cut, was an inch, if that, in length, differing from the 6 or so inches of the rest of my hair.

At first I was surprised, but then i rationalized that I could just wear braids until it grew out. I was even more surprised when my mother grabbed me by the arm, with the known strength of a black woman, got a bag out, the bag filled with hair cutting supplies used for my four brothers, and preceded to row the razor down my head. I could only watch in shock, in horror as my beautiful, natural hair, the hair I had been growing since forever, fell to the ground in chunks.

As the shock registered more, I ran to the nearest bathroom, took one look into the mirror, and there was one stiff before the tears began to pour in rivers. My mothers words of "there was nothing I could do! The hair in the back was gone!" Only added anger to my sorrows. Not even my older brother's rare caring words and pats to the shoulder could soothe me, and my twin brothers presence only further angered me.

I was terrified at the image, my hair, my beautiful hair, my seemingly one distinguishing mark from my twin brother had disappeared in only a few short minutes. I don't remember going to sleep, but I remember waking up with tear tracks down my face.

"But I don't want to go to school!" I told my mother, and that was the simple truth. Because it was the last day of school though, I was forced into the car. "I can do this", I thought, with a silk hair rand a bandanna, and a hat on my head, hoping no one would see me with them off. Of course I was some how dragged into my teachers room, as my mother preceded to converse with her, and for some forsaken reason, a reason I at the time believed was only out of spite, told her about my new style and was forced to take off my protective coverings.

"Okay" I thought, "It's only one person, my teacher" of course it was by chance that my arch enemy, Maya, happened to stroll in at that very moment, her fake smile toyed with my head.

We were then hushed into the ceremony, where I joined the other council members circled around the flag in the center of the gymnasium, surrounded by the rest of the school. It was at the "oh so proudly we hail" part of the national anthem, that a girl in my class, Rachel, decided to pull of my hat, exposing the rest of my coverings. I was quick to get my cranberry colored hat, and cover my head, giving her an angry glare.

It was then that I lost all confidence in seeing my friends for the last time or kissing the boy I liked on the cheek. I spent the entire summer with short hair, including my visit to Key West to visit my sister and attend camp, were the only comfort derived from the fact that know one else knew me. The fact that every one thought that my brother and I looked "SO ALIKE!!!" further downed my mood, I would at the moment EASILY have said that I would never forgive my mother for taking a way not only my hair, but my individuality, and my confidence.

Now, I do not at all hate super short hair, I have seen many people who rocked it like no other, nor do I object to tiny Afros. But I do object to MYSELF wearing them, besides not feeling like I look good in short hair, I will always attribute it to that memory, and the idea of individuality from my brother at an age where separate personalities had yet to make an appearance for my twin brother and I.

After years of pressing, and chemically straightening my hair, I now love it and as a young woman, I know what I look good in and what I don't, and short styles, unfortunately, are not one of them.

My mother for example has worn short hair for as long as I can remember, and my sister will eventually go for the 'Big Chop'. I am now at the moment transitioning my hair, and hoping to return to beautiful natural hair, for the first time since early youth.