Why dreadlocks?

It has been just over three weeks since I started my dread journey for the second time.  My first journey lasted almost two years, but wasn’t meant to be forever.  I was naive about some things and took bad advice as good.  I just wanted dreads and didn’t know to be patient about the process.  I kept reading about how dreadlocks are a lifestyle, but I didn’t get it.

For my second journey, I conducted more research and really thought about why I wanted to have dreads.  This time, dreads aren’t the goal, they are just the (much wanted) result of reaching the goal.

I get tired of everyone being so caught up on looks.  How people dress, what their hair looks like, how much they weigh, where their clothes come from…

Dreads are my way of saying, I don’t care what you think of me.  Well, my way of saying I’m working on not caring what you think of me.  I’m just as guilty as the next person of wanting people to like me and to not judge me.  The dreadlocks are essentially forcing me to take a step back and be okay with myself no matter how I look.

They are also an opportunity for others to stop and look at themselves.  Why are you judging me and my hair?  Why does the way I look make you uncomfortable?

No more dreads

It has been one week since I cut off my dreads.  The reactions from others have ranged from sadness to an exclamation of “God bless America!”.   The sadness came from my son and the “God bless America” came from my mom.

I did have someone ask if I was going to have to change the name of this blog.  My response was no.  At my last job, it felt as though some people dreaded seeing me approach because I was that lesbian who didn’t keep quiet about things.  I’m sure there are other people out there who have the same feeling.  I won’t name any names, but I have my suspicions.

So why did I cut off my dreads?

A number of reasons.  First, I can’t tolerate one hairstyle for too long.  I get bored, and I’ve never really been too attached to one particular look.  I’ve never really been into changing the color of my hair, I just change the look.  When I made my dreads, I used a novice technique that should never be used.  I may choose to have dreads again some day, and if I do, I will use a much better technique to create them.  Washing them was a huge effort and often left me exhausted.

In any case, while my dreads journey is currently on sabbatical, my journey as a lesbian is not.

Judgment in the waiting room

10:15 am; time to go.

I grab some items and head out the door to a doctor’s appointment.  Darn, I forgot to make sure I know where the building is.

10:31 am. A minute late, but by the looks on everyone’s faces, the Dr.’s are running behind and one minute won’t matter.

I get checked in and pick a seat in the waiting room, not too close to anyone, yet not completely secluded.  Ever since I got dreads, I feel the need to not hide myself.  I think it probably weirds people out to see a white girl with dreads, and have made it my responsibility to make them look at it.

“I’m just looking at your hair.  What is that? Do those braids damage it? Be honest now.”  What? Who? Why are you asking me so many questions?  I look up and a woman with white hair, probably in her mid 60’s is standing in front of me looking quizzically and judgmentally at my hair.  “They aren’t braids”, I reply.

“What is it then?”

“They are matted up hair.  I call them dreads.”

“You won’t ever do it again will you?”

First of all lady, who are you to make a judgment about my hair, let alone what I do with it in the future?  But I simply reply, “I’ll leave them in for a few years.”

“Really?! That crap? Has your mom seen that?”

Are you kidding me right now?  Crap?  Did you just call my hair crap?  “Yes.”

“Poor mom, poor mom.”

Thanks for your concern, but she never reacted like that.  In fact, before I even got them, she looked at pictures on the internet with me and said she thought they would look good.  Yeah, it was a bit of a shock to her when she saw them on me, but they are growing on her and she has never judged me.

I see her start to look down my arm as she asks, “Did you lose your husband or boyfriend ‘cuz of that?”

Well lady, I’m gay so I don’t have a boyfriend or husband.  Assuming that she is still referring to my hair, I simply answer, “No”.

That seemed to stump her.  She’s finally leaving me..

“Do you have a husband?”

Here we go.  “No, I’m married to a woman.”

“Oh.”  Long pause.  “So is she the woman?”

Flashback to coming out to my grandma.  What is it with people thinking that somebody has to be the guy.  And why are you assuming she’s the woman?  Couldn’t I be the woman?  I realize I’m wearing plaid shorts, but come on.  Lots of girls wear plaid shorts. “Well, we’re both women.”

“I thought in those kind of sexual relationships one was more the woman and one was more the man.”

Are we really having this conversation in the middle of the waiting room? Well, if you insist, “Well, I think it used to be more that way, a long time ago, but it’s not like that anymore.”

“Well, I don’t care one way or the other.  I’ve got some of “those” as my neighbors.  They’ve never said, but I know.”

Thank you, lady, for the violent head nod in my direction at the word “those”.  I am now fully aware that I am one of “those”, and that when you say that, you are referring to lesbians.  That’s right. The word is lesbians.  Oh, you’re not done.

“I think they’re moving to Colby for school in the fall.  Where are you from?”

“I’m originally from Phillipsburg.” And why do you care?

“I know where that is.”

“She was born in the Olathe area, but has lived all over the country.”

No response, this is good.  Maybe she’s done.  I wonder how many people have been listening.  No one is looking at us, but we haven’t been quiet.  And this lady is dressed kinda mannish.  I don’t think she should be judging my woman-ness based on how I…

“Do you work much?”

Right, this is an appropriate question.  I can see how you would think that I probably don’t work, seeing as how I am a dreaded lesbian.  “I work full-time.”

“Where at?”

“FHSU, Financial Aid.”

A nurse opens the door and calls a name.  Please let it be this lady.  Oh, she’s getting up.  Thank God, that’s over.

I sit quietly and undisturbed waiting for my name to be called.

Aaaa, she’s got dreads!!!

On April 17th, 2011, I got dreadlocks.  This was a very difficult lifestyle choice for some people in my life.  My dad had a racist comment. People at work asked questions like, “Why would you do that?” and “Won’t you have to shave your head”?  The ironic thing about these questions is that the people asking them did not actually believe that I was getting dreads.  My first outing with my dreads was to Palm Sunday service at my church.  The majority of people ignored them (a common response as you’ll read later).  A few people loved them, while others were confused.  When I went to work the next day, no one said a thing (at least to me).

In previous posts, I have commented on the average citizen’s reaction to holding hands with my wife.  Well…that was nothing compared to having dreads.  I received many more stares; longer and more fierce.  Suddenly holding hands with my wife seemed almost normal.  The other reaction I had is best described by the following situation:  Day 1, I eat at IHOP.  Day 2, the lady scanning my purchases at Walmart says, “Did you eat at IHOP yesterday?”  I thought for sure that I had missed some syrup in my shower and it was still on the side of my mouth now caked in dirt.  But no, she recognized my hair and was overly excited that I was now standing in her line.

I just passed the one year mark of having dreads.  They are much more beautiful than they were six months ago, and people are finally starting to talk about them.  In the past two months, three different people, at different times, asked me about them.  I was able to dispute some wrong assumptions and enlighten them about the process.  Some of the best lessons can be learned from the cashier at a non local gas station.  She had no idea what was going on with my hair.  So she asked.  She wanted to know what they were called, how they were made, how long it took to have them look the way they do, and what will happen when I want to get rid of them.  Sure she didn’t necessarily need to touch them, but I’m glad she asked instead of pretending they weren’t there or glaring at me for being different.