I remember my mother teaching me how to french braid her hair when I was younger. She loved it, especially when I brushed it. Having someone brush or play with your hair does hold some element of pure bliss and ecstasy, now doesn't it? I mean, who doesn't like being groomed? I remember her teaching me by french braiding her own long black hair on the back of her head. Now, this I could not do-- french braid the hair on the back of my own head-- I found that to be quite the magical skill.
The more I look back on the little memories of my childhood, the more I begin to understand the little bits of my own identity. Whatever identity that is.
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