My father , a source of “good hair

Although, I still await word from a prospective agent about another book for which I have very high hopes: “Looking for Forker Gyrl in NKH (New Kiss Horizon”)


I am embarking on another project, and lack, so far even a working title, but a book about my father…


Calvin-tight crop 1950 copy


My father

Caucasian, African-American, Native American, Indian

Frizzell Brasier copy

my paternal grand-father

“good-hair legacy”

Caucasian, Native American, Indian

Just recently, my mother examined a picture of me, and claimed that she could not find herself; indeed my parents met in the south, and my mother had the task of “lightening up the family” (1949 in Tennessee; such things were important then).  Or at least seeing to it that her child had “good hair” –the very thing she despises me for now, the “good hair” that she doesn’t have.  The “good hair” so much better than the tightly coiled, very Africanized hair she has (under the wig); well, I have exactly the kind of hair she wanted me to have. 



Selfie Friday #3



Thylias Moss, 61, with “natural hair” ”natural “good hair

My “natural hair” is waist-length now, and I don’t mind at all if it continues to grow. 6 more inches will do me just fine, and my “good” hair will take me further and further from my mother.  Florida Missouri Brasier copy

My mother; she doesn’t know I captured this picture of her converting the garage into the: “Prince of Peace Teaching Ministry”

Contrast to her daughter:


Walking for Joy, hoping for a mystery man, trying to accept that it might not be him; my world being crushed

No weaves, no wigs, no extensions, no hair pieces.

I Wake up like this”

case closed.


also me now


Walking for Joy, hoping for a mystery man, trying to accept that it might not be him; my world being crushed

I woke like this today, and I will wake up like this tomorrow.


        Exactly what you wanted; but you didn’t get it for yourself. Nothing I can do about that, except be who I am, whatever I am, as mixed (up) as can be, and maybe one day, you’ll be able to accept your hair which is dead anyway.  Look at all the death sprouting from my head...


me now, right now, even as I type this, little old lady with “good hair” the hair she always wanted, and has been wearing wigs for the longest to get that coveted texture, coveted length..  Wigs that are too shiny, too straight, obviously artificial, but she wears them with pride, and won’t even venture onto her front porch to retrieve the mail without one.  All those cans of Hair Rep, and jars of Dixie Peach still didn’t give her what she desperately wanted… Royal Crown
hair grease also. Even Crisco.
 Blue Magic 

hair Mama desperately wants.

I’m a regular Cameroonian stink ant with that hair exploding and cascading from my head (wrote about this in my poem “Ant Farm“)

She both hates and envies my “Good Hair” –and yes; I’m watching the Chris Rock movie: “Good Hair” to help put everything in  context.

Sorry Mama



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