Generational curses we broke

Hair day, this means take them braids out and bring the comb! Seeing the look on LP's face said...this isn't my favorite part..

Me: What kind of movie do you want to watch baby?

LP: I want to watch something on this app

Me: ...ok, just not subtitles, I'm not fighting your attention span

We sit in the livingroom after our negotiations and began in silence. My thoughts drifted to when mom would teach me how to manage my hair. She would say...keep it brushed and tied down. I hardly wore a shirt. I climbed the fruit trees on our property to fill my belly and all my dresses were getting the worst of the stains. So I stopped wearing them.

LP: Why you laughing mama? I want to know? Is it a kid friendly joke?

Me: ...kid friendly joke? what? you know some non kid friendly jokes? I like to laugh so go on, tell me one, I'm listening...

LP's silence suggested that this was not the tree she wanted to climb in that moment. So again. I scuff.

Me: I started doing my own hair at nine years old baby. I got you a beauty store doll head with glued wig to help you practice...what's happening?

LP: I want to be a professional gamer.

Me: so gamers don't groom themselves?

LP: maaaamaaaaaa

Rattail comb, flat teeth comb, dax and tcb grease with two types of hair ties to separate the parts.

I began to hum along to the whisking away of my childhood memories. Here I am with a whole preteen little person. I begin checking mental pockets for styles I preferred and why. There was something special about having three part styles. Braided neatly. I felt the most beautiful when my hair was in beads. I didn't want to take the style out because like LP, the sitting still for hours is the least appealing. Well, I had to make her kneel. That's what I had to do when I complained about sitting on the floor without a pillow. I also would impatiently yawn to touch my hair in discovery of the granted style.

Id get brushed. Combed. and insulted about the shape of my head as it was not an easy thing to make everything look like something.

So by twelve, I was neat with the styles. What was my favorite hair do then you may ask? Whelp, a ponytail. Nice neat bun, about three swoops with the pullback and abracadabra; my everyday every occasion style.

LP has her mother.. me. I didn't have my mother to sit with me the day before school to ensure I was prepared for the school week. I lived in different households that uninformatively admit that they are only helping out because of capital.

Watching something on television meant that I get to blend in until an exclusive scene came on. That's when the children like me where shewed away while being threatened like pests. I wished I knew what my mother thought was funny, how she laughed...does she think of me?

LP asks to use the restroom, according to her, the hard floor makes her butt fall asleep faster, so when she gets back she's going to need some pillows for support. I respond with hurry up I know you just want to see how I'm doing your hair!

As I wait for LP to come back, Inky sleepily walks into the kitchen which is adjacent to where I was siting. Well, where LP and I were sitting. Inky usually speaks so quietly that we have to look at her body language to charade guess what she's saying. I stare until she comes closer. My Inky is almost six feet tall. Slightly taller than me when she has her shoes on. I'm five six and a half, its cool with me if you say five-seven.

I was the one to reach things in higher storage in most houses. I know that my dad is short, but I didn't recognize that dad is shorter than ma. I think about why my parents didn't stay married as hubby and I celebrate nineteen years of ours. I questioned my worth.

I was about to run off to the restroom myself because that last push of flatulency was a slow heat seeker. LP would be tickled with disgust when she gets back from her mission to judge how I opt to style her 4C hair.

I know Inky loc'd her hair after observing how elated I've been with mine.

Generation to generation we learn about our hair. We learn how to groom into acceptable styles. We learn patience with ourselves. We take pride in small accomplishments. We take pictures because this style right here must stay in for at least two weeks.

My little ladies have both biological parents, their own rooms, respect of position, family meeting topic discussions...they don't know that just to be everything to them that I wish was my reality. Breaking generational curses is the small things. Habits. Norms. Toxicity. Those were the scuffs. I climbed trees to be closer to God. My children are now equip with the knowledge and self practice of grooming themselves for the week.

What they don't conceptualize in these moments is....they are holding me accountable as I did to the hair person back then. Make me look good was the joke, they would scuff. Id cry. My children laugh hysterically at my expressions...but they would be surprised of how well hair day, prepares them for the world. All because of the generational curses we continue to break.