The other day I was in Walmart when an African American woman stopped me.
She said, "Ma'am, may I ask you a question?"
Her: "Do you ever put any type of oil on his hair?"
Me: "Well, I have this stuff called Shea Butter that I put on it every night. It's supposed to moisturize it."
Her: "No. Uuh-uuh. That's not gonna work. Look how dry his hair is."
She touches his hair and just says over and over again, "Look how dry it is. Do you see how dry it is?"
I nod my head rapidly in agreement, like confessing a sin. I felt the need to apologize or something. She told me of a couple products to try and when I walked away I just whispered to my son, "I'm sorry, Sammy. You've got a white mama and she doesn't know what in the world to do with your hair!"
The hair saga continues...
Last night Andy let me take a break and go to Starbucks for a couple hours after dinner. He said he was going to take the boys over to Super Cuts to get Sammy a haircut (for the first time). When I came home I was shocked to see that Sammy had been all but scalped! No more hair for Sammy, poor guy. Andy said it was quite the traumatic experience as Sammy was petrified of the clippers. He screamed the entire
Guess I won't be needing those hair products after all...