2
He was a single parent and often clueless about the upkeep of
little girls. I often wore mismatched socks to school, clothing
either too big or too small and sometimes even damp. The
worst of all however was my hair, a tangled and matted mess
of dark black waves that always remained pulled back into a
slovenly bun. My family often commented on me and my
sister’s hair when they thought they were safely out of ear shot.
They whispered, “That’s just so sad, why doesn’t their father
comb their hair before parading them about in public”.
I took my spot on the couch and pretended to watch cartoons
as my grandmother eyed me curiously; she quickly went
upstairs and brought back an arsenal of tools back in her
hands. “We have to do something about that hair, I won’t stand
for this! She escorted me into the kitchen and draped a long,
thick terry cloth towel over my shoulders. She turned on the
kitchen faucet and tapped her fingers on the rushing water to
check for a suitable temperature and I glanced at the
assortment of shampoos and conditioners she had in store for
me. As she placed my head under the gushing water, I felt my
body tense up and my eyes squish close in anticipation.
“No need to be afraid, I’m not going to get it in your eyes
girl”. A loud squirt echoed above my head. I felt her slim