everybody I knew as a child wanted to have good hair.
you could be as ugly as homemade sin dipped in misery and still be thought attractive
if you had good hair.
"jesus mose" the girls at Camp Lee, Virginia, had called Daddy's naturally "good" hair
during the war.
I know that he played that thick head of hair for all it was worth,too.
My own hair was "not a bad grade", as barbers would tell me when they cut it for the first time.it was like a doctor reporting the results of the first full physical he has given you.like "you're in good shape" or "blood pressure's kind of high- better cut down on salt."
I spent most of my childhood and adolescence messing with my hair.
I definitely wanted straight hair.Like Pop's.
when i was about three, i tried to stick a wad of Bazzoka bubble gum to that straight hair of his.
i suppose what fixed that memory for me is the spanking i got for doing so: he turned me upside down, holding me by my feet, the better to paddle my behind.
Little nigger, he had shouted, walloping away.
i started to lough about it two days later, when my behind stopped hurting
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