Veoletta’s Story
I can’t say that I remember the very first time I was aware of my appearance, but one of my earliest memories was at age 7 when I was in the second grade. I went to a predominately white private school where I was one of a very small handful of black students. We had this hair book at home of different styles, but I don’t remember any of the models being African American. While looking through the book I saw this style on a red-headed Caucasian model that I wanted to wear. I took the book to my mom, pointed at the style and asked her to do my hair like that. The hair style would’ve been simple for anyone with straight or semi-straight hair, but not for my texture. I ended up with two poofy pigtails with rubber bands on the end. I looked in the mirror in horror when she was finished realizing that my hair looked nothing like the girl in the picture. I didn’t say any thing to my mother because I was too upset and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. To make things worse, a boy at school made a comment that my poofs looked like hot dogs which made me feel even more horrible about myself. Not only did I look different to all of my classmates, but I was starting to notice the difference more and more. This is where my desire to have “pretty”, straight hair like all of my classmates began. A desire that I still have to fight today when I compare how I look to the societal standards set before me daily.
Nope,love your hair too.
I can identify, although my story is just the opposite! Growing up in a predominantly African-American neighborhood during the mid 1960’s was difficult. I hated my naturally curly, straight, “good” hair, as people called it. I was constantly taunted and harassed because of my hair. I became obsessed with trying to create an afro style and was teased and challenged to fights for trying to “be Black”.