flat hair

so we try to keep birthdays simple
to avoid materialism
and emphasize family.
i asked my february-born child
what one thing she wanted for her birthday.
she explained that since she already had
a tutu and butterfly wings
that the only thing she really wanted was
flat hair.

she means hair that is straight.

this she asks of a mama that has worn her hair natural
for more than 10 years.
a mama whose distant memories include
a perm burning her scalp as a teenager
– and even farther back –
sittin between her mama’s legs
while holding down her ear
and cringing, without moving,
away from a hot comb.
this she ask of a mama who does not own a blow dryer.
what kind of brown woman does not own a blow dryer?!?
certainly not a brown woman with four girls.
and yet, this woman lives on an undisclosed street
near shoppers food warehouse
in hyattsville, maryland.
shame on her.

determined to make the one birthday wish
of a five-year-old-to-be come true,
i ventured out in the aftermath of snowmageddon 2010
to sally’s beauty supply in search of a hot comb.
even CVS sells electric pressing combs (as they are officially called) these days.

i should’ve just took her to a professional,
but i wanted this to be a mother-daughter moment
and i was afraid she would have screamed us out of a salon.

first i washed, untangled and combed her hair
and she stoically held in her normal cries of anguish.
then we came to the moment of pressing, hot truth.

in my hot comb memories,
my mama always had a folded paper towel nearby
which she wiped the comb with before hot-combing my hair.
and there was some oil dabbled on my hair at some point.
the reasons for this and that were rediscovered and clarified
(i.e. on-the-job-training)
on my baby girl’s beautiful, thick, curly hair.

her hair came out a bit singed in some places,
but noticeably flatter.
she adored herself in the mirror,
pressing her hands down the length of her flattened tresses
like a model in a commercial for madame c.j. walker’s miracle-working pressing combs.
– a birthday wish come true
and she hadn’t even blown out the candles yet.

every night thereafter
– until swim class returned it to a somewhat curlier state –
she came to me before bed,
comb and brush in hand,
so that i could twist up her “flat hair” for the night.

the black and proud woman that i claim to be
who has worn her hair naturally for years,
giving the hand to harsh, curl-destroying chemicals
that burn the scalp and cauterize historical ties,
who sought to instill in her girls
familiarity, comfort, ability and pride
in the beauty and versatility of their kinks,
sold out and singed her fingertips all in the effort to give her daughter
one birthday wish for flat hair.