The Life of My Hair

This is my Hair story and unfortunately I am stuck with it.

It all began fifty-one years ago when I was born to a bi-racial mother. Now she was not your everyday half Caucasian half African American bi-racial woman, no she had to be half Irish half American Indian. And then to make matters worse my father is, well who knows what he was. So here I come with who knows what to call it kind of hair.

I guess as a baby my hair was pretty manageable, as most babies hair is. I assume that no one had any major difficulties in keeping it groomed. But as I grew up and was allowed to comb my own hair, I found that all I could ever seem to manage was a ponytail. Why, you ask?

My hair was then and is now it's own mixed group of heritages in one spot. On one side we have the curly and frizzy section. In the front we have the straight and never will hold a curl section. On the other side we have the wavy section and bringing up the rear is the infamous W hairline that is always visible when you style it in an up do.

I have always called my hair confused because it can not be braided, the braids come loose, it can not be curled, the curls fall out, it can not be straightened because the wavy and frizzy sides go back to being wavy and frizzy. And products don't help, the gels make it frizzier, the mousses enhance the wave patterns and the oils and creams weigh it down.

What's a girl to do?

When it is time to style my hair I have to flat iron, curl, gel, and mousse, then I normally wind up just putting on a wig.

I have always told my sister that she got the good hair. Her hair will grow and grow and grow, she has the Caucasian hair. My hair will grow only if it wants to. My hair is too confused to know what to do and I hate my hair, I wish for everybody else's hair. Seems like I will never have pretty hair.