On Cutting My Hair - Pt. 1

After I turned off Dora the Explorer...

Lately, I’ve been considering cutting my locs.  I’ve been growing them for nearly six years and they can sometimes become a bit much.  They're a bother most when I’m playing basketball, rolling around with our daughter Jocelyn, and eating cereal (lol).  However, as much as I keep tossing this idea around, I just can’t see doing it yet.  I’ve been pondering and praying about this for a while now, but in short, I’ve come up with three reasons why I can’t cut my hair:

1. Identity. As a black person in the USA, my locs give me a source of connection to my culture.  This is not Africa, but when I run my fingers through my hair, I feel Africa.  When I look in the mirror and see my hair knotting itself together, I see Africa. I see a person and a place that I cannot replicate here.  Most images of success and beauty in this country are either Euro-centric or Euro-considerate.  My locs are not.  They don't conform to the norms of the society or even the norms I may have for them (get out of my cereal!).  Instead, they force others (and me) to deal with the fact that I am African. 

Personally, I love this. I like how they feel and how they look.  I understand that in the country we live in, they make a statement. It has become clear to me that when I walk into a room, I’m immediately critiqued.  We all are, of course, but for some reason, people assume they know more about me than they do.  In some settings, I’m assumed to be a thug, in others, uber-intelligent, in others, an athlete, in others, militant.  No one has ever spoken openly about this to me, but their comments and expressions give them away.  “You went to college?”  “You’re probably good at ___________” (enter African-American-ism here).  “Don’t mean to offend you but ________________.”  (enter clueless racial relations comment here).  There have been dozens of accounts where this has happened subversively and I have had to appropriate it accordingly for the time being all the while thinking, "they don't know me".  

Can I be honest?  The truth is, I REALLY love this.  I like that when you see me, you don't know what you're going to get.  I like being unpredictable for at least a moment (outside of this, I'm fairly routine).  I like that I cannot be defined by a simple glance.  These things challenge me and they challenge others.  My hair is a constant reminder of my blackness and it forces us all to either embrace it or deal with it...

Come back tomorrow for the other two reasons I can't cut my hair!