To say my hair was a battleground is not hyperbole. It’s not an exaggeration or me being dramatic. It’s a fact.
Being a white-presenting, mixed-race kid with hair more the texture and with curls like my Black father was a battle of epic proportions. It was a war zone. With myself, and with my mother.
Oh, Lord, how I hated my hair! It was a damn mess!
You’d never know it to see me now, but I was born with a beautiful full head of straight jet-black hair.