When I was a youth Pops would comb/pick my hair every morning in the downstairs bathroom before taking me to school (circa 1978 - 1981). I not-so-fondly remember trying not to be a lil' punk as the popping-peas in my hair would call the tears behind my eyes accompanied by shrieks and pleading. The brother's hair was knappy and at that time in my life I wasn't happy (bout' my knaps). I told Pops one day "When I have a son he won't have to go through this." Dad just smiled. Normally I'd get a swat or so to keep me from hunching my shoulders and performing like he was killing me. It was worth it to have the Afro. Black Power yall'.
It's 2008 and my sun in late 2007 stated that he wanted his hair to be like Pop-T's hair. I think he also caught sight of a few of the BET videos and the normal t.v. stations that have commercials that depict people of African descent. We don't allow the kids to watch B.E.T. as we prefer Black Improvement over Black Entertainment. I have noticed that many times the youth of African descent on the boob-tube have fros'. My son's uncle (hermano-mio) has great photos with a Jackson-Five meets Angela Davis type of Afro. My wife decided that if he decided to grow an Afro he would have to grow an Afro and not punk out in the process. Son decided to grow his fro' until the spring time. I personally love his head with a very light Cesar (almost bald).
Every morning I'm combing son-suns head. Every morning he's screamin' bloody murder. We have tried grease, comb-in conditioner, and this brown stuff the wife found. He's still crying and jumping and dancing every time one of his peasy-peas opens up. 10 minutes later he's back to smiles singing "Knappy Boy.....& Pretty Boy" quoting Chris Brown and T-Pain's song entitled 'Kiss, Kiss'. He's so proud of his hair and it's humbling. As Pro-Black as I am I still wrestle with finding some African features as attractive as Euro' features. I once had my hair permed and straightened while I had an Afro (circa 1991). All these Mexican chicks I worked with would say "Oh...... You look Dominican !" Flattered was I, didn't know what a Dominican looked like was I also. During this time I was dating a woman named Chris who coaxed me into perming my hair. She loved running her fingers through my hair and I loved all the attention other women were showing me. One day Chris mentioned Malcolm X and I re-read the Autobiography of Malcolm X. I read it in High School mildly forced by my father and found new insight. About a week into the book I cut all of my hair off and grew back my normal knappy hair feeling proud to be African. My new found pride in what GOD gave me began the road to the end of Chris's presence in my life. I also found out that the Spanish speaking brothers I was cool with included Dominicans. I never realized that were we different other than their family's spoke Spanish. They looked like most of my American-born (African-Indian) family. Some of us were light, some were darker, some had straight to loose curly hair while others of us had knapps. To me they were Blacks who had Spanish forced upon their early family as English and Portugeese were forced upon my early fam'. It came down to this... Some of us expressed our African genes prominently while others of us showed our Indian or Euro' genes a little more prominently. Shouts out to Danny Rodriguez, one of my Amazulu-brethern who is from a Dominican family that migrated to the shores of the USA; he is my blogin' inspiration.
It's 2008 and my sun in late 2007 stated that he wanted his hair to be like Pop-T's hair. I think he also caught sight of a few of the BET videos and the normal t.v. stations that have commercials that depict people of African descent. We don't allow the kids to watch B.E.T. as we prefer Black Improvement over Black Entertainment. I have noticed that many times the youth of African descent on the boob-tube have fros'. My son's uncle (hermano-mio) has great photos with a Jackson-Five meets Angela Davis type of Afro. My wife decided that if he decided to grow an Afro he would have to grow an Afro and not punk out in the process. Son decided to grow his fro' until the spring time. I personally love his head with a very light Cesar (almost bald).
Every morning I'm combing son-suns head. Every morning he's screamin' bloody murder. We have tried grease, comb-in conditioner, and this brown stuff the wife found. He's still crying and jumping and dancing every time one of his peasy-peas opens up. 10 minutes later he's back to smiles singing "Knappy Boy.....& Pretty Boy" quoting Chris Brown and T-Pain's song entitled 'Kiss, Kiss'. He's so proud of his hair and it's humbling. As Pro-Black as I am I still wrestle with finding some African features as attractive as Euro' features. I once had my hair permed and straightened while I had an Afro (circa 1991). All these Mexican chicks I worked with would say "Oh...... You look Dominican !" Flattered was I, didn't know what a Dominican looked like was I also. During this time I was dating a woman named Chris who coaxed me into perming my hair. She loved running her fingers through my hair and I loved all the attention other women were showing me. One day Chris mentioned Malcolm X and I re-read the Autobiography of Malcolm X. I read it in High School mildly forced by my father and found new insight. About a week into the book I cut all of my hair off and grew back my normal knappy hair feeling proud to be African. My new found pride in what GOD gave me began the road to the end of Chris's presence in my life. I also found out that the Spanish speaking brothers I was cool with included Dominicans. I never realized that were we different other than their family's spoke Spanish. They looked like most of my American-born (African-Indian) family. Some of us were light, some were darker, some had straight to loose curly hair while others of us had knapps. To me they were Blacks who had Spanish forced upon their early family as English and Portugeese were forced upon my early fam'. It came down to this... Some of us expressed our African genes prominently while others of us showed our Indian or Euro' genes a little more prominently. Shouts out to Danny Rodriguez, one of my Amazulu-brethern who is from a Dominican family that migrated to the shores of the USA; he is my blogin' inspiration.
Seeing the pride my son displayed in his hair, even after the tears, is uplifting. He doesn't want to have his hair cut. He was reluctant to have it trimmed. The normal trip to a 7-11 after the cut didn't even have the same enticement it used to.
I told my son about the cry-quote I told my Pops as he was raking the rake through my head-jungle. He wouldn't stop laughing for about 10 minutes. When he stopped he told me "Dad you lied..........You make me go through the same thing every day.....You comb my hair too hard."
I grew up with a photo of a woman combing her daughters hair who was combing her daughter's hair. I think it's called 'Generations.' I was always a-wondering "Where is the man's version ?" Looking at my hands today I realized that GOD had already painted that picture. My hands were grooming the next generation. My pains became my son's pains through a grooming ritual. I'm able to easily run a comb through my thinning African hair now (circa 2008) and I'm noticing a patch where my hair won't grow. As I bald my son-sun is Afro'ing. During dinner son-sun told his grandpa about the conversation we had regarding the pains I endured combing my hair as a youth. As they giggled I felt warm. My fatherhood ability is growing, my family is growing together, and I'm going bald. While enjoying an adult beverage during a party this weekend I saw an old man picking his Afro while looking in the mirror. I raised my glass-bottle and toasted the Afro. A toast to the love of my past and present, all through a grooming ritual.
I told my son about the cry-quote I told my Pops as he was raking the rake through my head-jungle. He wouldn't stop laughing for about 10 minutes. When he stopped he told me "Dad you lied..........You make me go through the same thing every day.....You comb my hair too hard."
I grew up with a photo of a woman combing her daughters hair who was combing her daughter's hair. I think it's called 'Generations.' I was always a-wondering "Where is the man's version ?" Looking at my hands today I realized that GOD had already painted that picture. My hands were grooming the next generation. My pains became my son's pains through a grooming ritual. I'm able to easily run a comb through my thinning African hair now (circa 2008) and I'm noticing a patch where my hair won't grow. As I bald my son-sun is Afro'ing. During dinner son-sun told his grandpa about the conversation we had regarding the pains I endured combing my hair as a youth. As they giggled I felt warm. My fatherhood ability is growing, my family is growing together, and I'm going bald. While enjoying an adult beverage during a party this weekend I saw an old man picking his Afro while looking in the mirror. I raised my glass-bottle and toasted the Afro. A toast to the love of my past and present, all through a grooming ritual.
