Black people come in all shades. Our hair is varied in texture from tiny curls to larger ones. This is true even within families. Curly hair has gotten a really bad rap because of the amount of work that it takes to make it "straight". We always want what we don't have. My sister, Muriel had thin straight hair, but she wanted curly, thicker hair. Even as a little girl, she obsessed over it. Anyone in the family would have traded hair texture with her in a minute. She, however wanted to fit in. She wanted curls and thicker hair. She actually begged for them. She sat mesmerized in the beauty parlor as my mother had her hair pin curled.

 

I was 12 and it was my job to comb everyone's hair.  It was necessary. There were 12 children and everyone was expected to help. My mother finally gave in an instructed me to learn to do pin curls. My aunt Marion instructed me in the fine art. After shampoo, condition, hot comb (if necessary) the hair is parted into neat little boxes. The hair is then twisted neatly and each little square is pinned down with two bobby pins criss-crossed. I skipped the hot comb step and twisted her hair wet, then pinned it down.

 

"You're not finished yet," was the question asked by family members as they watched the 8 yearold reading her book.  She sat patiently and waited for her stylist to finish the tedious job. It took hours. We were both tired. Television had signed off the air for the night and the snowy screen helped to light the room by the time the job was finished. Alphonso called it scary that she could sit so calm for so long.

 

The next day when the hair was dry, I removed the pins with a captive family audience.

 

"Good Lord, what have you done to my child?"

 

"You told me to do it. She wanted pin curls and I followed directions."

 

"She looks like Medusa." My brother could not control his laughter. He was cruel in his enjoyment of the situation.

 

My brother was ordered from the room as my mother and I went to work on Muriel's hair. The pin curls were relentless. They were horrible. Her hair was all over the place. She got her wish. She had a gigantic afro. No matter how much we brushed, combed or washed her hair the curls would not go away. She had to wear the very strange hairstyle to school. (Afro's were not in style at this time) She endured a lot of teasing.

 

"Wow, who did that to you, and is it permanent?"

 

This was the usual comment from the kids on the school bus. I felt horrible. My mother had an interesting sparkle in her eye whenever she told the story.

 

"Just goes to show you, there is no such thing as good hair. All of my children have good hair. You just better learn how to take care of what God gave you."

 

I have done pin curls a few times since then and they came out really nice. There were no blow dryers for the hair available at the time. Twisting and pincurling the hair wet caused the curls to set too well.