My White Husband & My Black Hair
My husband is great for so many reasons. But tonight, it's because his hands are in my fro! It feels like the good 'ol days when I'd spend hours in front of the television as my sister would braid extensions into my hair. Oh, the nostalgia!
From the days in college when I chemically straightened my hair to wearing wigs and weaves, extensions and then back to its natural state - Bryan has been understanding of the whys behind the progression and has told me that my hair looks beautiful throughout. He acknowledges my continual struggle of desiring Caucasian-like hair as it flows in the wind, and can be brushed and curling ironed. He's fine with our bathroom cupboards being filled with hair oils and hair butter and never complains about my nighttime satin cap and satin pillowcase needs. Though the Herbal Essences advertisements make me wonder - if I was able to use that kind of shampoo, would I miraculously end up in a field of roses where life is perpetual bliss? Bryan brings me back to reality, reminding me of our own world of blissful reality right here in Seattle, complete with my once every two week shampoo and Miss Jessie's deep conditioning regimen. He knows that whether I choose to wear my hair as an afro or in cornrows that I'm not doing it to make a statement or to try to showcase my cultural roots.
I am so thankful to have married a gentleman who can simultaneously understand my longing for fine, shiny hair that can be pulled back in to a ponytail, yet he also encourages my natural state, and supports my Pinterest natural hair obsession. What a guy!