WHAT'S DONE IS DONE......right?


My husband tells the story that he has always known that he would be married and have two children. It was less a premonition and more of something in the gut, something very cerebral. But his family and friends were never so sure. At the rate he was going, (late twenties, not seriously attached) he was going to be a hundred years old before he found a wife --- too picky his sister assured him. "You need to realize, no-one is perfect!" she admonished. His friends teased him about living alone, "all the way out in the 'burbs." A few women he dated asked if he was gay when he declined quite overt sexual advances. His mother had even begun to wonder if her only son was sterile, if there was a possibility that the Shannon name would end in his brown eyes.

When I think of my decision to lock my hair, or allow it to lock I should say, I think of him. Somehow I've always known at some very gut, very cerebral level, that one day I would lock my hair. The feeling became even more pronounced when I cut the remains of my relaxer and determined -- committed -- to wearing it natural. Though I admired the many natural styles: afro puffs and twists, cornrows and micro-minis, and felt very excited about all the hairstyle possibilities that didn't exist when I was a young girl with natural hair--I still knew that at some point I would journey toward/into/within the loc'ing process. It was just a matter of time.

For some people, the decision to loc is entirely spiritual; some feeling of being closer to God, feeling more grounded, rooted, perhaps a sense of feeling "freer" for those in the creative arts. For some it's, I suppose, a reclaiming of one's "roots," perhaps their way of being closer to an African aesthetic, a political kind of stance. But my decision to loc is manifold with less to do with making any kind of political statement and more of what has to do with me, the reason I feel I am on this planet, the work I have been assigned to do and the lessons I think I'm here to learn.

My mother told me when I was very young that I have no patience; that I bore easily and just when I've settled into one thing--perhaps only partially--I'm ready to start looking to the next thing. She told me, not in these exact words, but in some form that meant the same thing, that learning patience would be my row to hoe in life, my lesson so to speak.

When I think of how my daily life unfolds and how I react to that unfolding, I realize that what my mother said then is true and it amazes me how God equips mother with what I call, a Seers eye. In my day-to-day life I am as inpatient as the word is itself. A look-up in the dictionary will find my picture right next to the boldface word. I'm inpatient with my children--especially my daughter--and the length of time it takes her to get this math in her head. I'm impatient with my son and his potty training blues. I'm especially inpatient in traffic and have been known to hook a U-turn that even a sparrow would envy, driving almost five miles out of the way to simply avoid waiting, waiting, waiting. I even knit with big needles. Why? Because little needles means a million little stitches that take a lifetime to add up to any completed project --- a lifetime to have one pair of socks.

I am inpatient in long lines at the grocery store, unless of course, I have something to read in the suitcase I call a pocketbook, or a tablet on which to scribble more notes for my novel or a poem. For the most part I am simply and painstakingly inpatient.

What is interesting to me is that everything I am drawn to doing is something that takes time to finish; requiring what? Patience. My novel, raising my kids (both of whom I wanted so very much when I was single) and now, this loc'ing. As I journeyed home from the hair salon on Friday, my starter locs looking as pretty as I'd hoped, I wondered if this is just another way that God is saying to me: Patience. Patience and Endurance.

"The race is not to the swift, but to he [her] that endureth."

So here I am: loc'ing. The day before the appointment I got cold feet. Earlier in the week I'd seen a thousand people with ratty, lint filled, sloppy looking locs. I called my elder girlfriend whose locs are mature and beautiful.

Me: "I'm getting scared."

She: "Why? Maybe it's not time?"

Me: "No. It's just I don't want my locs to look nasty and unkempt."

She: "Angel, any hairdo that's not properly maintained is going to look nasty. Haven't you seen some nasty-looking busted up perms?"

Me: "Yea."

She: "Alright then. People with busted up hair either want to look busted up or just don't do proper maintenance. It's not because they have a perm or locs it's because they choose not to maintain their hair. Call me after your appointment tomorrow. And if you get there and you feel it's not right, it's still okay."

The appointment went well. A beautiful sister/loctician from Canada who like me, came here thinking her stay was only going to be brief, but met a man who said he loved her and meant it, and now she's here for as long as long will be. I took pictures with me of locs I want mine to look like: thin, curled on rods, full.

She said that's great. I have a head full of natural hair and I'm starting at a longer length then most people. She warned me of the days ahead when my hair may look like it's been shocked with an electric current and I may be tempted to turn back.

"Be patient. We will work through it together.

And like my writer friends who are well published and much further ahead then me, she also said "and don't trouble yourself with other people's locs and how theirs look. Focus on yours."

Like novels, every loc is different and every wearer of locs is different. Loc'ing, like writing, teaches us to respect our own journey, our own process, our own raison d'etre. Loc'ing reminds us to trust the Spirit within to finish everything that is begun.

Be good. And to every single person who came my way: your energy helped me get through Friday. I really believe that. Thank you so very much for the love and good wishes.


Oh, and lastly, if anyone's within driving distance of D.C., please treat yourself to the Romare Bearden exhibit going on for FREE !! It's been over sixty years since the work of an African American has been on exhibit there and his work is more than worthy. If you have time, treat yourself to the Jazz Brunch going on every Sat and Sun, 11 a.m. - 3 p.m. featuring jazz of the great Harlem Renaissance period.

Okay, now I'm out.

ANGEL