Day 24: What Brown Does for Me

Every other Friday, I go to my hair salon, Olives, in Brighton Center. It is a feast for my eyes, ears, and soul. In "The Community", hair plays a major role and it has been a large part in life since I can remember. My first trip to the salon was at age six. I remember sitting on a huge pillow on a high pump-chair. (It fit in very well with my idea of self as princess.)  The women in the salon came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. It was in the salon that I received some of my most important lessons on becoming a beautiful, black woman.

In the world outside the salon, girls like me were not the dominant force. Barbie was blonde, who a black version of her. Tootie was on The Facts of Life, but let's be honest, it was Blair and Jo's show. And of course, there was Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. In the salon, brown was everywhere and black was beautiful. If my hair was braided, the only reason people wanted to touch it was to style it. The texture of my hair was not the exception, it ruled.

In my hair salon, I can recharge. It is not easy being a black woman in this world. Sometimes, I need a place to be reminded of where I've come from. It means a lot to have a place where I can see myself reflected back not as other. These women remind me that brown is beautiful and the time I spend there is as good for my heart as it is for my hair.

My cousin Taunya has a gift for doing hair. When we were kids, every family get together ended with me sitting between her legs and her hair in my hands. Actually, i didn't exactly sit between her legs, she held me there in a vice grip hold that would have made a python cry uncle. She said I was tender headed. This mean I couldn't get my hair combed without crying. What it didn't mean was that the person combing hair should take it easy. When my cousin was done doing my hair, I always looked at 5 years younger because the skin on my face was pulled tighter than Spanx on Oprah. It would be at least 45 minutes before I could see again. My eyes needed the time to return to their natural shape. But it was worth it. Her styles were beautiful and like nothing seen with much frequency back home in New Hampshire. That time we spent together bonded us and our some of our best memories, tears and all.

Five more minutes under the hair dryer, soaking in Sister Sun, in this golden oasis of beauty.