The No-School Zone

(Originally posted on 1.07.08)

I love school breaks. At the end of every semester there is a bright and magical "No-School Zone." During this short window of time, I can get a few things done, but better than that, I can amuse myself . Even with a yucky sinus infection, the sun is shinier, songs sound better, and I have the ability enjoy enjoyable stuff...apparently my vocabulary hasn't caught up with all of this wonderfulness (?), but you get the point. I'm all about concrete examples, so I'll give one:

On Thursday, I did my hair in rag curls, and it worked...some might say too well. The bouncy ringlets piled atop my head looked Romantic and frilly on Friday, but by Saturday, I got bored and decided to experiment further. Where would I go from tightly wound curls? Should I wash it, and start over? Let it go another day? Decisions, decisions.

Finally it dawned on me, like a beacon from the sky. I would go where few white girls have dared to venture: Afroville.

I'm fascinated by them, there is no hairstyle as fierce and natural as the Afro. I knew that I could never truly do an Afro justice like the strong and beautiful Pam Grier or the amazingly gorgeous Erykah Badu, but I felt compelled to try.

A euphoric combination of the "The No School Zone," and three days of cough syrup ingestion gave me the confidence to charge forward in my cosmetological quest. I picked up my trusty comb and set to work. The once springy curls frizzed out and multiplied across the surface of my head. I giggled gleefully as my hair grew and grew. It was beautiful.

Or so I thought, until I stepped back, and realized that my hair had only expanded horizontally; it had no height. I looked more like Roseanne Roseannadanna than Pam Grier.

Although I mildly scolded myself for being so silly to think that my flat, Caucasian hair could pull off such a feat, I felt satisfied and proud of the fact that I had tried something new and daring. OK, so it's not skydiving or teaching in a third-world country. My half-cocked Anglo-fro had no impact whatsoever on the outside world, but it made me feel free, and happy, and even pretty for a minute or two, and it was fun.

As I type this, I wonder if I will share it because I fear that most people reading it will judge this post as crazy or inconsequential or foolish, but the truth is...I am those things sometimes, and I've found that life is sweetest when I embrace the inane and awkward aspects of my psyche. My attempt at an Afro might have failed to deliver a feasible hairstyle, but I found something far greater in that fuzzy ball of hair: a tiny piece of self-discovery.

RD