Writing about hair

We're reading House on Mango Street in class, and I asked my students to write vignettes about hair, considering Esperanza's description of her mom's hair.  Esperanza (the protagonist of the novel) says her mom's hair smells like warm bread, and she speaks of the simple comfort her mom's hair offers. I challenged my kids to write a vignette about hair (theirs, a family member's, a friend's, or hair in general) and make it meaningful. After they got over their "You're really asking us to write about hair?"and "I have no idea what I'm going to write about!" grumbles, their pencils starting moving frantically.

Their vignettes floored me. A quiet boy in the back wrote about how his hair represents his desire to join the Army and how it makes his mom so angry. He thinks the shorter his hair is the better. I had a girl write about her long, brown locks that she always wanted to be blonde. She explained how coming to terms with her hair helped her come to terms with herself. The girl in the front row wrote about her grandma's hair that fell out during chemo. Her grandma's clumps of hair were a metaphor for her strength.

I wrote my own, and I shared it with them as I introduced the assignment:

            Your two-year old locks, limited though they were, caused me so much strife. From the moment we met, I was making a plan for dealing with your hair. As I held tight to your chubby fingers on the way from the shelter to the car, I wondered if I should lay a blanket on your carseat to prevent the spread of the lice that were finding their home in your tiny black curls. I wanted to love you right then, but your hair was getting in the way.

            You rested your head against my chest while we read a bedtime story, and I thought about your hair. I longed to think about caring for you, loving you, and teaching you, but your hair and the lice clinging to your scalp consumed my thoughts and emotions.

            The very next morning, we shaved it off. I wasn’t going to let something so small as hair get in the way of my mighty love for you. My momma’s heart prevailed over your curls. I was conqueror.

                                                                                    -Sherry McGowan, 2010