Hair Abuse, Please Stop


This post will be a majority about myself and my own experiences. Although I’ve heard many share my same complaints and experiences I don’t want to generalize this to the whole African-American public but you can deduce whatever you would like by the end of this post. My topic for this essay concerns the touching of a black individual’s head. Currently having dreadlocks no language professor could find the words needed to state the amount of pestering my head has gotten from the hands of all ethnicities. It would be boorish to discuss the feelings I’ve attained from the multiple hands on my hair from the information you know now. My hope is that by the end of this essay you will perhaps understand my ill-mannered ways.
Allow me to take you back to a time in my life when I practically had no hair. From kindergarten to roughly about second grade I was bald according to my classmates. My head, and I’m sure my color due to the fact I was the only black kid in my class, sparked a lot of interest to others in my class as they started conversations with each other concerning my barren head. During this time I felt like I was a popular kid. Everyone knew who I was no matter the class or the age and they all knew about my stylish hairdo. Everyone caused me to feel very likeable and cool, and I kept that feeling until a kid had the audacity to actually put his hands on my head. That moment on everything just went downhill, because I felt more like test subject thank a cool kid. From then on everyone would touch my head but it wasn’t a rub that I received it was usually a pat. To everyone’s surprise I did have hair but a little amount. My hair as a kid was spiky and little similar to stubble on a man’s face. My hair was compared to the feeling of a porcupine. I than thought it’s time to change up my hair style since everyone was messing with me. My hair grew and grew until it became a decent sized afro, which sparked even more attention than my last hair style. People would bounce their head off of my hair as if I was a basketball and a few brave souls would actually stick their hand into my hair and then yell out, “It’s stuck!” I decided that if got rid of the afro I would be left alone but I still enjoyed the feeling of hair on my head so I kept the hair but changed the style. I got dreads in 7th grade which proved to be my worse possible option if I was trying to avoid classmates touching my hair. Peers would pull my hair like string, tie it like you would a shoe strings, and other interesting things up to braiding my hair or tugging on it asking if it hurts. Never had I received one break of my head being heads free. From kindergarten to my junior year in high school my hair has always been commented on and abused.


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