Hair is a great way to try on different identities. My own hair has been colored, permed, and cut into many shades and shapes. I know first hand, that no hairstyle is fatal. But when my twelve year old daughter, Frances, came to me and said she wanted dreadlocks, I was not prepared. Dreadlocks? Really? I stalled. Would she consider tiny braids? No, it had to be dreads. She argued that I'm always on her case to brush her hair. With dreads, she claimed, there would be no more brushing. I tried to explain that getting cute, non-rodent nest looking dreadlocks required more than simply tossing away your hairbrush, but she was adamant.
I'm not opposed to dreadlocks. In fact I like them when they're small and tidy, maybe with a few beads. One of the cashiers at my local Trader Joe's has tiny little dreads that she wears piled on her head in an artful knot. Some of her dreads are dyed magenta. She looks terrific. And I'm a huge fan of writer Anne Lamott who looks lovely and wise in her dreads. She describes them as being “like snowflakes, each dreadlock is different, has its own configuration, its own breadth and feel. It's like having very safe multiple personalities.” Still, it took consultations with many trusted friends before I took a deep breath and said yes.
Frances made me watch a Youtube video from a hair salon in Canada that specializes in dreadlocks. The stylist spent something like five hours on this guy's hair. And then went on to explain that it took up to a year for dreads to really take. Until then it was a matter of constant teasing and waxing the dreads. Frances asked if I would help her with this project. Hmm. Did I really want to spend the better part of a weekend ratting up my daughter's hair, only to have her yell at me that I'm not doing it like the video?
I was visited by two different visions of Frances as an adult. In vision one, I allow her to get dreads, but do not help with the process. In this narrative she remembers a mom who let her take a few risks and deal with the consequences. She is a stronger person for it, though not terribly appreciative of my maternal wisdom. In vision two, I eagerly help her with the dreadlocks. We spend the whole weekend locked in the bathroom with combs and beeswax. We tell each other secrets and laugh together. It's a bonding experience that she never forgets, a story of her mother's love and devotion that she will tell her children and grandchildren.
Call me lazy. I went with vision one. I purchased beeswax for her and sat in the living room while she teased her hair and became increasingly frustrated by how long it was taking. I helped a little bit with the hair in the back, but not enough to inspire memories of love and devotion and stories for grandchildren.
She worked on her hair for several days, spending way more time ratting it than she ever had brushing it. When I picked her up from school each day, moms would come up to me and offer sympathy. I developed a new mantra which I shared with anyone who would listen: It's not sex. It's not drugs. It's not tattoos or body piercing. It's only hair. Hair can be cut. Hair grows back.
After a couple of weeks of teasing, waxing and complaining, it happened. The dreadlocks actually started to look kind of good. And I had to admit they fit Frances' vegetarian, outdoorsy personality. She was a girl who played in the mud, climbed trees, hiked for miles, and was not afraid to get dirty. She was passionate about animal rights and shopped at the thrift store. The dreads were working for her. Some moms started telling me that she looked cute. They admired her self expression. Her friends thought she was cool and gutsy for getting dreads. Maybe this was a good idea afterall.
And then she got lice.
We were no strangers to lice infestations, Frances and I. Talk about a bonding experience. We had already logged many hours of “nit picking” during previous infestations. But lice AND dreadlocks? That was uncharted territory. Anyone who has ever spent any time wielding a lice comb knows that they have very fine teeth. There is no way a lice comb could make it through the tangled mass of a dreadlock. I didn't know where to begin, and Frances was devastated. There were tears and the sad realization that the only way out of this mess involved scissors.
Well, you can't just waltz into a salon and ask for a haircut when you have lice. You will be shown the door very quickly. And I have zero talent when it comes to hair and scissors. So I got on the phone to my Aunt Edna who owns a hair salon. She explained that she could lose her license for knowingly cutting lice infested hair in her salon. But she would meet us at my grandmother's house after work to see what she could do.
Later that day, after a lice shampoo, we gathered at my grandmother's house: Frances, her mother, two great-aunts, and her 96 year old great-grandmother. Aunt Edna took a good look at Frances' hair, lifting and examining the dreadlocks. As a stylist it must have taken an incredible amount of self-restraint not to pass judgment on what Frances had done and I had allowed. But whatever her thoughts, she kept them to herself. Slowly and carefully she began to cut. One by one she snipped the dreadlocks and Frances and I watched them fall silently to the ground.
But then Edna began to work real magic, shaping those jagged cuts into a stylish layered haircut. There were sighs of relief and gratitude. This was a good moment. We were a family, a gathering of women helping Frances on what will be a life-long journey of self-discovery. There will be other knots to untangle as she grows up. I will be able to help her work through some of them, but not all of them. This is one of the hardest lessons of parenthood: Letting go and trusting that your child will be ok without you. Hoping that she never finds herself alone with a knot too big to untangle.
When she was a baby, I held her tiny fingers in my hands and helped her take one awkward step after another. When I sensed she was steady enough, I let go. But here's what I hope she remembers. When she fell, there was always someone to help her up. She was surrounded by people who love her. All she had to do was reach out.
At age 14, Frances says she is glad she got lice before a more drastic haircut was required to remove the dreads.
