The Reality of my Daughter's Beauty

When I was my daughter's age, I hated my hair. I hated that it wasn't straight. That it took me forever to get ready in the morning and even if I was with someone who knew how to comb my hair, it felt like a torture session. I wanted "white girl hair" (a term I used when I was eight). I was even jealous of my full black sister's short relaxed hair. Although she probably wished she had  my hair, I would've traded places with her in a second. 


My oldest daughter's curls are long, but tighter than mine. Over the years I worried about how she would accept her own beautiful hair. One day her hair will be down to her behind and the next it will stop at the nape of her neck. 






This morning my daughter woke up with a HUGE afro.  Her hair reminded me of Solange Knowles. Although I straighten it once a year for a couple of weeks (no real reason, just don't feel like spending more than two hours a year to do it, lol). I made it a point for her to love her natural hair. The reality of her beauty. She looked in the mirror and moved the section that was hanging over her eyes out her way. She said "Mommy, I love my hair like this. Can we keep it this way?"

For me to hear her say that made me tear up. I did my job. One girl down, one more to go.