Let me start out by saying how beautiful I think you are. I really like your hair. It is so long and pretty; I like the wavy layers that you can put in it. I like how you are able to put it up, but still able to have the pretty spirals coming down the front. I want my hair to look just like yours.
It makes me sad that my hair can’t look like yours. It makes me sadder, when I see the frustration in your eyes about what to do with my hair in the morning before school. I over-hear you telling others that “you don’t know what to do with my hair,” and it doesn’t make me feel pretty when you say that.
I do like it when you make an attempt to comb my hair and style it. It feels good on my scalp when you put the lotions in my hair and rub my head. I feel a connection to you when we are done. I feel as pretty as a princess when my ball of fur is transformed into pretty, soft, pigtails, and braids with beads and barrettes in them.
I also like it when you take me to the salon. The ladies in there look like me. They have hair like mine. The smell from the hot comb smells like my granny’s house used to before I came to live with you.
I like it when you have the black girl from the high school come to our house to braid my hair; she is so nice. Her braids in her hair remind me of the pretty African lady that I saw on TV. She tells me that I am pretty when she is braiding my hair. I like her because when she is done, my hair looks like hers.
Mommy, I want to be like you; however my hair is different than yours… and that is perfectly okay!