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When I was born I had a few wisps of hair which gave no inkling to the lifetime of untamable masses of fuzzy brown hair that would grow like a tumbleweed. Looking at my baby pictures there’s no hit of the wildly curly hair I’ve struggled with all my life from childhood to teen years and into adulthood. It looks straight and somewhat sparse with bits of scalp showing through.
I was about 5 years old when I had my first traumatic hair experience. My parents and I were visiting family in San Jose when my mother decided to find hair stylist who might be able to tame my wild locks. Hair so wild my uncle would call me lion head when my hair was out of its braids and flowing free like a lion’s mane. My most frequent hair style was one thick braid on each side of my head. My Mother was tired of struggling to get my hair into braids daily and she hoped a big city stylist could give my hair a cut that would be simple to comb and style.
And so my nightmare began. We entered the salon which although busy didn’t seem overly modern or luxurious to my child’s eye. My Mother explained to the stylist about my difficult hair and how she wanted a good hair cut since I was to start kindergarten very soon. I looked through a book of photos and settled on a sleek, smooth short bob cut. The stylist saw the photo and assured me and my Mother she could tame my hair into the short, STRAIGHT stylish bob cut. Woe to the girl who has ever been misled by an inept hair stylist.
The woman washed and cut and styled my hair. When it was time to look in the mirror to my horror a giant brown puff ball had sprouted instead of the sleek, cute bob cut!!!! I was only five years old but I knew I was in big trouble and I hated my hair. It looked like a giant cotton ball afro the kind you see on those old Blaxploitation films and old rap videos! I looked like Foxy Brown in that Austin Powers film. WAAA!!!!
My Mother was outraged but what could be done? My hair had been cut too short to be combed back into my two non-scary school girl braids. Worse was to come since I grew up in a rural mostly Caucasian town with little experience with any kind of ethnic hair. My Puerto Rican hair was an oddity and my new cotton ball hair style would not go unnoticed and I feared being teased by my new schoolmates. I made my Mother find me a beanie hat to pull over my mass of brown fuzz in hopes that I could keep it hidden until it grew back out long enough to put back into braids and avoid the ridicule of my classmates.