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Occasionally, you get clumsy hands, or hands that dont know their way around Black hair.
For me, this person was my father.
My dad is about as macho as they come.
For a while, this was my favorite hairstyle.
So I started being pickier about the hairstyles my dad was sending me to school with.
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I made requests for less elaborate braid-work and asked him to try half-up, half-down styles.
Some days hed listen, some days he wouldnt.
Undoing my hair happened quickly, in a few hot breaths with small, determined fingers.
Id forbid both to exist in their natural states for years and years to come.
By my freshman year of high school, I was straightening my hair constantly.
Youve got some of the most beautiful hair out there, hed say.
It took years for my dads words to really reach me.
When they did, they were transformative.
Its only been in the last few years that Ive begun to coax my curls back to life.
Most importantly, Ive meditated on the hair-care ritual of my childhood.
I made a vow to approach my curls with the same loving care.
In doing so, Ive begun to embrace and embody my Blackness.
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