Hair

I have been thinking a lot about hair lately. It's really cold outside, and the hair on my head does little to keep me warm and I think I started thinking about hair today after I saw a content, furry dog, who did not seem to mind the cold. However, there are other reasons that make me think of hair, namely the fifth grade.
In the fifth grade I usually wore my hair in braids or twists. I don't have many pictures from this time but my mom often combed my hair in plaits or box braids. Occasionally, I also had cornrows which were uber-cool and usually done in intricate patterns. Sundays for me was the worst day of the week. On that day my mom would put my sister and I in the bathtub and wash our hair. Afterward, I would always call my sister Chaka Khan, because her hair always looked huge and poofy and crazy; then, without fail I would have my hair combed out first. I would shut my eyes and try to imagine playing Donkey Kong.
Sundays like the one described happened like clock-work during my childhood. In the fifth grade, things changed. I went to Junior High School and encountered girls who rolled up their uniform skirts to show more leg and had shiny, silky hair and shiny sweet smelling lip gloss. There was a girl in my Spanish class, Zima, who fit this profile and the boys were always talking to her. I failed that class because I was usually staring at Zima who sat in front of me and because I was sort of a slacker in the 5th grade. The boys in the class usually made fun of me and occasionally Zima would come to my defense but otherwise she rarely acknowledged me. I was so envious and enamored. I wanted boys to talk to me too and make jokes with me instead of about me. One boy in the class said I was halfway decent but insisted that I needed a relaxer. My hair looked to childish and the boy assured me that it was better to have a perm. "My mom has one," he said confidently. I knew he was right and followed his advice. I didn't want to look like such a kid. After all, I was in junior high.
I had these dreams about having straight hair and wearing red lipstick. I would always wake up disappointed to find my braids (even though I was only 10 and it was an appropriate look). I finally asked my mom for a perm and after some perseverance and persuasion she gave in. I went to school with my new straight hair. My art teacher Mr. Haggerty made a comment that went something like: "Who is that new beautiful girl?" And the other students noticed my long, silky hair, which was past my shoulders and stunning. Before the perm, my hair never lay flat, it just stuck up or out. The new me was a vast improvement or so I thought...
Being "beautiful" came with its consequences. One was an awful smelling garlic deep conditioner that my sister and my brother's girlfriend insisted was great for relaxed hair. I hated the way it made me tingle and I wanted to puke when I smelled it. Going to the Dominican hair salon once was also a bad experience. I had to sit on a phone book at the shampoo sink because I was so small and all I could remember was the discomfort my neck was in leaning my head back into the sink, while trying to keep my body upright to reach the sink. Then there was also the hot blow dryers, the rollers and the flat irons. Bottom line, this was not a fun way to spend a day for a kid. My hair became troublesome and I was too lazy to keep up with it. Also, one day I switched the brand of relaxer that I used, which is not advised. It turns out that my hair got too damaged and I had to cut most of it off. This also meant that I had to grow my hair out and for awhile the bottom near the roots was thick, while the ends were raggedy and straight-ish. My dreams were shattered after I went through a time consuming chemical process that got me nowhere. Boys still continued to pick on me and girls continued to make me envious. On top of that I was on probation in that grade, which meant I had enough failures to have something like detention during my lunch periods. I guess my head was in the wrong place but as an adult I realize now how much it doesn't matter. But, imprinted in the minds of many people is the belief that cascading, long and flowing hair is feminine and attractive but as a woman of predominately African descent I wasn't built that way and people should be OK with how I am. It is something so trivial and yet so controversial and strange to talk about. But my question sincerely is: why do black girls put themselves through so much to fit into an ideal of beauty that excludes them. Why want to be included into that category anyway? Don't get me wrong, hair is cool and people have a right to make their own choices but I can't help wondering why this practice is so widespread and why so many people aren't good enough the way they were made.