Pressed Memory

Beginning to like this natural coiffure of mine. Always hated Mom to come thru my hair after a shampoo. Then to use a hot comb on it. The sizzle my hair made, when the hot comb fried the pressing grease, on it. Granted it was some of our best mother-daughter bonding time--like when I asked Mom what "screw" meant, which I pronounced like 'sku'--she stopped in mid comb of my hair, and asked where I'd heard it.

Hey, I was honest. I told Mom this schoolmate said another schoolmate wanted to do this to my best friend. My BFF played it off like we knew what the word meant, even tho it sound like something gross. Since Mom said I could always talk to her, so talk to her I did.

However which way Mom explained to me, I didn't get grossed out--just like, "Oh, OK." And then Mom asked if any boys had said that that word to me or touched me. ICK...NO! And if they ever did--I was to tell her immediately! I didn't get why, but OK...

I was 12 years old. And on the walk to junior high school that morning, I told my BFF everything my mom said! EEEEEEE-yeeeeeeeeeew.

Ahh, memories from having natural hair-the first time. Before chemicals to straighten it, or the wigs and weaves to change my hair within minutes, became part of my vocabulary.

What would Mom and I talk about during this natural go round, if He hadn't called her Home so some?

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go oogle my fluffy and oh so soft hair!

Stay tuned

Oh. Yes, I drank my 74 ounces of water.