Brief History of My Hair

By J E Amison

My first memory of hair on my head was at six years old. My mother loved to play with the hair of her little boy; I had a head full of it, thick and full of curls. To my mother (Ms. Ruby McCelland) her baby’s hair was a source of hours and hours of “ playin wit baby’s hair”. I was mama’s little joy too hold and dress. Not to mention my aunt Besty, fussing and her bragging to her friends how cute I was. I had to go along with it because at that age, who’d listen? My father, on the other hand, thought too much hair on a boy wasn’t a good thing. Seeing my doo, didn’t bring a smile to his face by any means. Old school and strict to the words of the bible, dad would often suggest taking me to the barbershop to meet some of his fishing buddies, at six years old that sounded like a plan to me.
My hair grew at a very fast rate, and near the back of my head and at the crown, grew a tough patch of suborn hair, a cowlick my daddy (Jack) called it. It was strange hair, it hurt when I combed it and stuck out like a “Dennis The Menace” hair tail. I had so much hair on my head in the Summer, it was unbearable in the heat.
I asked my daddy about his friends at the barbershop, hearing this he brighten up and started talking about his fishing buddies and how they caught and even cooked fresh fish. My heart was full of hope, but still my father spoke as he rubbed my head saying “Your mother would just die if I did it, son”.
I pleaded for a chance to be a part of dad’s fishing crew even if it meant loosing mom’s favorite locks. Dad looked me in the eye and said “Each change in you, means you’re growing up son, I am proud of you”. The next morning my mother was so kind to me, when preparing my breakfast, she would kiss me and say “You’re a big boy now, you can choose whether to have your hair cut or not”. My father pretended to read his paper but winked at me on the side.
Hair has been an important part of my life. My first haircut was on a board, laid across the armrests of a barber’s chair, with me too small to fill the chair. Must have been a lot of hair ‘cause men gathered around and “uhhh” and “aaaahhh” at the site. From then on, dad and I would drop in every two weeks, sometimes dad just waited for me and told stories with his friends. I remember hair, hair all through Junior High. Funny thing about all this is when I turned thirteen, I grew an Afro, by then my dad thought it was cool and mom thought it looked trashy. My mother called it a natural. I laugh at how funny that sounded at the time. These days, after having served in the military, I keep a neat cut and trimmed, of course, I don’t have as much as I did at six.

Jack Amison