My daughter has a lot of hair. I’m serious – look at the photos. You may be wondering why I’m telling you this, but the point is, her hair kinda gives me grief. It’s beautiful, bountiful and gorgeous…but it’s work.
I remember sitting between my mom’s knees every night while watching Highway to Heaven (remember Michael Landon?) and shrugging away as she brushed out, braided and then tied my hair. It was a grueling, nightly ritual that I hated…and now 30 years later guess who puts her daughter through the same torture. Yep. Me.
The thing is the bond built between the mom doing the hair (me) and the daughter trying to escape the brush (Eva) is actually a beautiful thing. It’s something we all go through as women (especially black women) and it’s a memory most of us share. But I just wish it wasn’t such a struggle. I’m not a great braider so I end up combing her hair into a new style every, single day.
Do you have a solution to the hair dilemma, or perhaps a way to make it more enjoyable? If you do, let me know, sister, because 30 years from now it would be great if Eva remembered our “hair sessions” as something more than cruel and unusual punishment. Submit a comment below or email your ideas to submissions@cityline.ca.