Listening to my granddaughter cry while my daughter brushed the tangles from her hair brought back old memories, painful memories. My stepmom was as frustrated with my hair as my daughter is with my granddaughter’s hair. Sabria was allowed to protest and cry during the whole process. I was not.
“I know how you feel,” I told her, “except, I wasn’t allowed to cry. If I did, I was told to shut up or I would be given something to cry about. One time my stepmom took me to the beauty shop and had my hair cut off above my ears. The kids at school teased me and called me a boy.”