I watched the video of my eldest son, Kyle walking in protest of racial inequality. As he joined the massive crowd of protesters, I could not help but notice the way the sun shined down on the top of his beautiful bald head. There was almost an iridescent glow that hoovered over him as he moved with the crowd. I wondered was his brown bald head glistening due to the sunscreen that I knew that he applied. Was my mind causing him to be highlighted in this fashion because he was indeed my son? Probably. Did I need him to be illuminated in this way to provide me with peace of mind knowing the controversy that caused his journey? Then, it dawned on me. I immediately thought of how the sun, our most natural source of light, plays its significant role without fail. The sun shines on everyone with the same intensity, right? The sun does not choose to radiate its magnificent light on certain individuals. When it shines, it lights the way for everyone.

My son is a photographer. I’ve come to understand through him, the importance of light. Capturing the right amount of light can create a beautiful picture but an overabundance of light can destroy a picture. Choosing the right angle should also be considered because it enhances the essence of the picture. That is why it is crucial, to creatively find the perfect balance. Now, perhaps my son being a photographer motivated me to use the analogy of sunlight and the subject of racial inequities. Regardless of my motivation, the facts remain the same. The spring of 2020 will go down in history as the time that light shinned brightly on Racism and Police brutality.

For twenty- five years, I worked for the New York City Police Department as a civilian supervisor for the 911 system. As we all know, all Police Officers are not lawless and without scruples. But there are a few that do break the rules. As with any other profession, they should be held accountable for their actions. I am the wife of a black man, Creighton, and the mother of two black sons, Kyle, and Corey. They have all encountered being stopped by the police at one time or another. The encounter would end with them being incensed by the lack of or bogus reason for being detained. With every car stop or stop and frisk, my only prayer was that it would end without incident. Black and brown people, merely because of our pigmentation, are too often plagued with the possibility of an interaction with the police going wrong. Unfortunately, there are too many cases, filmed and not filmed that shed light on this very fact.

A Caucasian Police Officer, pressed his knee on the neck of an apprehended, unarmed black man named George Floyd. This ultimately caused his death. He was murdered in broad day light, for the whole world to witness. Thanks to the actions of a teenage girl, who captured the footage on her cellphone, we were able to bear this witness to the incident in real time. We watched as the officer took a very cavalier posture with his hand in his pocket, while the man beneath him begged to breathe. This wasn’t the first time that someone begged for mercy in the custody of law enforcement. But this public inhumane act was the catalyst to outrage. All over the world, people of all races, took to the streets and let it be known that the present status quo of race relations, as it pertains to police brutality, was unacceptable.

So, as I watched my son march with trepidation, I also beamed with pride. I knew that with his every step, with every time he planted his feet on the ground, there was a hallo of sun light shining down on him. He was an active participant of affecting change. Maybe, just maybe, that powerful sunlight will continue to shed light on all that needs illumination concerning this issue. Prayerfully, we are now on the precipice of changing the ugly stains of systemic racism and police brutality.

For almost twenty years I walked with a crutch. For years it felt like a permanent part of me. It caused me to have unwavering confidence. I relied on it knowing that it helped me stand up with certainty. It required little to no maintenance. My level of dependency was acceptable in my estimation, because made me feel complete. Now that I try to see myself without it, to wean myself from the dependency, I instantly feel vulnerable. How do I live without my weave? During my many visits to the salon, I told myself that this would be my last time sitting through the laborious process of hair weaving. The many hours I spent with my hair stylist as she weaponized herself with needle and thread to install my store brought Remy hair, is shameful. But as it is said, there pains of beauty and achieving beauty comes at a cost. I paid the cost by losing time, money, and hair. The time I spent in the weave chair, rationalizing it as a moment of pampering, I could have been developing a hair regiment of my own. Anyone that knows anything about getting a weave knows how expensive it is. Suffice it to say, I have invested enough money to have shares in the hair used to weave or any of the products. And lastly, my own hair loss was the costliest of them all. My hair weaving journey began because except for my pregnancies, my hair is very thin. So, being vain and wanting a fuller look, I sacrificed what was left of my weakened hair follicles to have the new and improved version of myself, a full head weave. Over a period of time, I told myself that I should give my hair a break from the weave process. I did not. My version of giving my hair a break from weaving was the application of a permanent with a ponytail. Now of course I lied to myself by thinking that this was a healthier alternative to weaving. It wasn’t. I was only consoling myself by thinking that applying less weave was a sensible solution negating the chemicals that were now part of the equation.

In April of 2020, the world was forever changed by a highly infectious disease called Covid 19. This pandemic caused the closures of many institutions and businesses. It affected life as we knew by eliminating person to person close contact. This included barber shops and salons. With no end in sight to this crisis, it was time to deal with reality. My weave removal was overdue. On April 24th 2020, my husband grabbed the scissors and proceeded to remove my weave. His technique likened to the precision he uses to meticulously mow the lawn. Although he made a valiant effort to salvage most of my hair, there was not a lot that could be saved. As he commenced to cut my damaged strands, he commented, “its only hair. It will grow back. When I met you, you had a short hair.”

So, here I sit, faced with my new reality, being weave less. I am now forced to do the very thing that I spent so many years trying to avoid. Maintaining and accepting what is often referred to as my crown of beauty, begrudgingly. I wish that it was beautiful to me. But right now, my crown of beauty is short thin gray hair. Although it may sound superficial, this isn’t the me that I’m ready see or to share with the world.

A while ago, I purchased a wig. I did this because my hair stylist was on vacation. So, this was going to be my way of keeping up the healthy hair façade. My pacification was only temporary because wearing a wig requires a stocking cap as a layer of protection for your hair. The stocking cap prevents damage from the wig but simultaneously pulls your hair. This was also problematic because, being a woman of a certain age, I instantly felt the heat on my head. Everyone may not experience this, but I did. I literally could not stand the heat. My topical inferno caused me to reconsider wearing a wig.

I chose to share my hair conundrum because I am still on the journey of acceptance of my new do. I also chose to share my story because I’m sure that I am not the only person that is facing this dilemma. Although I appreciate my newfound connection with my hair, I’m still trying to navigate through all that is involved in natural haircare. To put it simply, it is a lot of work. For so long, I’ve been spoiled by the convenience of wearing someone else’s hair, managing my own hair is now foreign to me. I have learned that what you resist will often persist. There is no avoiding my new reality. I am confident that through proclivity and perseverance, I will get through this. I am looking forward to being reacquainted with the real me.