This Is NOT About Hair!
I was clueless until she told me- I swear it!
Cherese and I burst from the movie theatre singing softly but giggling loudly throughout the tune:
"Talkin''bout good and bad hair-
whether your dark or your fair-
go on and swear!- see if I care!-
good and baaad hair!"
Spike Lee's "School Daze" (1988) was on our minds when we were buying tickets and we could not help ourselves after the movie. Some people stared in horror, others chuckled in amusement. "So how did you ladies like the movie?", a woman neither of us knew asked. "While I was growing up, people used to tell me that I had 'good hair'...watching this movie, I suppose good hair is hair that looks like another cultures- I don't believe that is true of my hair-" Cherese cut me off. "Your hair bares no resemblance to anyone else I know that is African-American." "But that is so oppressive because my grandfather is from an African country!" "Excuse us", Cherese drug me away, "There you go AGAIN airin' our dirty laundry! Girl come on!" I had no idea what prior situation she was referencing, but I remained silent and perturbed throughout our commuter train ride back to the residence.
By the time we reached the house, I was in a less pensive mood. I borrowed a Domaine-Mardon Quincy '95 from the cellar, that she and I had once while on a double date in Ohio; when I told her about the geographic origins she called it "Cher wine". I laid out two afghans, one on each lounger on the deck and invited her out, as I laid a platter of Brie and Camembert (I'd 'turned' to make the crumbling more bearable), Salmon spread, tart white grapes and Bremner Wafers. "What's on your mind Cherese?" She rolled her eyes then exhaled deeply and loudly. "I'm just thinking about the first time I saw you at Rush...I KNEW you were going to cause trouble-" "What?!" Cherese placed her wine glass on the wicker table, "That's right! I said it! You were TROUBLE! I had spent TWO YEARS telling those girls what Black people were and weren't and you came in telling them I was a liar!" I thought my dear sorority sister had gone insane right before my very eyes, "Cherese in the years I have known you I have NEVER referred to you as a liar-" "Not directly; but with all your "You've been misinformed"s the Sisters thought I was playing some awful trick on them!" I thought back to that time...
Many times the Sisters would come to me and ask me if a certain stereotype was true, but I did not believe anyone had filled their heads with that nonsense, I thought they were asking about stereotypes they viewed in the media. "Cherese, you and I have always had a different manner in which we 'reached out' culturally to others-" "Here we go! That same 'Whatever I DO is Black because I AM Black" excuse!" I was quite taken aback by her hostility. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion when we are less...emotional?" "That's what you don't get because you are not as Black as me!-" There it was, all these years I have heard that comment and it felt like someone shot me in the dark: the reason was unimportant but they were the cause of something- someone- dying within me. My ears closed off her noisy diatribe and heard myself, as a child reciting and explaining in stark detail, the lyrics of "Strange Fruit" during Black History Month, at my pre-dominately White Catholic School. Originally keened from the soul by Billie Holiday, but I'd only heard it crooned by Nina Simone.
"You came in there with your GOOD HAIR and never thought about the repercussions you being there would have on me!" I had returned to the present, to Cherese complaining about how my hair and her weave 'clashed' at the sorority house. I could participate in Anchor Splash and run through the sprinklers on the lawn with the TKE brothers while she could not because she had "a perm and weave". This wasn't about her hair or my hair: waist-lengthed or shoulder-length; naturally wavy and auburn or chemically treated and ebony...This was about a schizoid reaction within our community to embracing 'Blackness' and being held hostage to stereotypes; shunning what 'Others' had and wanting to assimulate to become 'acceptable'; and holding a combination of aesthetics on a pedestal, then tearing down those who owned them.
At this transitional time in my life, I was standing before my sorority sister, a woman who paid good money to be identified with a group upholding certain values in the community with me, that was now slinging malice all over my new choices. "THIS is how YOU do homeless and unemployed- how can anyone take you seriously?!" I'd been through an ugly friendship break up like this before; it ended with a symbolic knife in my back and a literal fork penetrating my forearm. I'd had enough, "Cherese, can we agree to disagree then?" Her face erupted in maniacal aggression, "You will never get it because you are not even CLOSE to being Black- but your parents did that on purpose!" I held up my hand in a gesture of peace and explained that I was going to bed. "Go ahead, walk away Ms. Anne!" I stopped cold and my fist rolled into two fist, on the end of stiffened arms vibrating from anger. I HATED that insult; it began when I was settled into proper grammar and etiquette while others taunted me for doing so...and not being "Black". If we taunt our children for using proper grammar and etiquette as not being representative of our race, why get angry when Others label us uncouthed and 'beastly'? We have to take responsibility for those things we honor and denigrate in our communities.
I stilled my composure and walked toward the bedroom, "Go'on in Massa's bedroom!" This was the master bedroom but Cherese was probably referencing the owner who seemed uncomfortable around her when they met. She was flirting uninhibitedly, as she found out from me he had originally bought this home for his 'other woman' and was not selling it, because he could no longer afford either. He needed a housesitter. I pay the utilities with my unemployment checks and the arrangement works. Not needing anymore utensils embedded in my flesh, I locked the bedroom door behind me.
I'm sure you want to know if I am to remain friends with Cherese...I am in suspense too.
Cherese and I burst from the movie theatre singing softly but giggling loudly throughout the tune:
"Talkin''bout good and bad hair-
whether your dark or your fair-
go on and swear!- see if I care!-
good and baaad hair!"
Spike Lee's "School Daze" (1988) was on our minds when we were buying tickets and we could not help ourselves after the movie. Some people stared in horror, others chuckled in amusement. "So how did you ladies like the movie?", a woman neither of us knew asked. "While I was growing up, people used to tell me that I had 'good hair'...watching this movie, I suppose good hair is hair that looks like another cultures- I don't believe that is true of my hair-" Cherese cut me off. "Your hair bares no resemblance to anyone else I know that is African-American." "But that is so oppressive because my grandfather is from an African country!" "Excuse us", Cherese drug me away, "There you go AGAIN airin' our dirty laundry! Girl come on!" I had no idea what prior situation she was referencing, but I remained silent and perturbed throughout our commuter train ride back to the residence.
By the time we reached the house, I was in a less pensive mood. I borrowed a Domaine-Mardon Quincy '95 from the cellar, that she and I had once while on a double date in Ohio; when I told her about the geographic origins she called it "Cher wine". I laid out two afghans, one on each lounger on the deck and invited her out, as I laid a platter of Brie and Camembert (I'd 'turned' to make the crumbling more bearable), Salmon spread, tart white grapes and Bremner Wafers. "What's on your mind Cherese?" She rolled her eyes then exhaled deeply and loudly. "I'm just thinking about the first time I saw you at Rush...I KNEW you were going to cause trouble-" "What?!" Cherese placed her wine glass on the wicker table, "That's right! I said it! You were TROUBLE! I had spent TWO YEARS telling those girls what Black people were and weren't and you came in telling them I was a liar!" I thought my dear sorority sister had gone insane right before my very eyes, "Cherese in the years I have known you I have NEVER referred to you as a liar-" "Not directly; but with all your "You've been misinformed"s the Sisters thought I was playing some awful trick on them!" I thought back to that time...
Many times the Sisters would come to me and ask me if a certain stereotype was true, but I did not believe anyone had filled their heads with that nonsense, I thought they were asking about stereotypes they viewed in the media. "Cherese, you and I have always had a different manner in which we 'reached out' culturally to others-" "Here we go! That same 'Whatever I DO is Black because I AM Black" excuse!" I was quite taken aback by her hostility. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion when we are less...emotional?" "That's what you don't get because you are not as Black as me!-" There it was, all these years I have heard that comment and it felt like someone shot me in the dark: the reason was unimportant but they were the cause of something- someone- dying within me. My ears closed off her noisy diatribe and heard myself, as a child reciting and explaining in stark detail, the lyrics of "Strange Fruit" during Black History Month, at my pre-dominately White Catholic School. Originally keened from the soul by Billie Holiday, but I'd only heard it crooned by Nina Simone.
"You came in there with your GOOD HAIR and never thought about the repercussions you being there would have on me!" I had returned to the present, to Cherese complaining about how my hair and her weave 'clashed' at the sorority house. I could participate in Anchor Splash and run through the sprinklers on the lawn with the TKE brothers while she could not because she had "a perm and weave". This wasn't about her hair or my hair: waist-lengthed or shoulder-length; naturally wavy and auburn or chemically treated and ebony...This was about a schizoid reaction within our community to embracing 'Blackness' and being held hostage to stereotypes; shunning what 'Others' had and wanting to assimulate to become 'acceptable'; and holding a combination of aesthetics on a pedestal, then tearing down those who owned them.
At this transitional time in my life, I was standing before my sorority sister, a woman who paid good money to be identified with a group upholding certain values in the community with me, that was now slinging malice all over my new choices. "THIS is how YOU do homeless and unemployed- how can anyone take you seriously?!" I'd been through an ugly friendship break up like this before; it ended with a symbolic knife in my back and a literal fork penetrating my forearm. I'd had enough, "Cherese, can we agree to disagree then?" Her face erupted in maniacal aggression, "You will never get it because you are not even CLOSE to being Black- but your parents did that on purpose!" I held up my hand in a gesture of peace and explained that I was going to bed. "Go ahead, walk away Ms. Anne!" I stopped cold and my fist rolled into two fist, on the end of stiffened arms vibrating from anger. I HATED that insult; it began when I was settled into proper grammar and etiquette while others taunted me for doing so...and not being "Black". If we taunt our children for using proper grammar and etiquette as not being representative of our race, why get angry when Others label us uncouthed and 'beastly'? We have to take responsibility for those things we honor and denigrate in our communities.
I stilled my composure and walked toward the bedroom, "Go'on in Massa's bedroom!" This was the master bedroom but Cherese was probably referencing the owner who seemed uncomfortable around her when they met. She was flirting uninhibitedly, as she found out from me he had originally bought this home for his 'other woman' and was not selling it, because he could no longer afford either. He needed a housesitter. I pay the utilities with my unemployment checks and the arrangement works. Not needing anymore utensils embedded in my flesh, I locked the bedroom door behind me.
I'm sure you want to know if I am to remain friends with Cherese...I am in suspense too.
posted by ScreenGoddessComplex at 6:24 PM
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