My father’s hair is just the same. Long in length, black and bold--as dark as the night sky. Everyone always says how lucky I am to have such beautiful naturally curly hair. I think they are just trying to be nice. It’s like a lion's mane, soft like cotton balls, very frizzy-- but not as furry. It takes a mountain of hair products, and hair tools to just tame.

Drip...drip...drip...from my warm wet hair, which has already turned to ice. The cold water running down my back--sends that shivering sensation down my spine. The tropical smells in air, oh wait that’s my hair! The smell is so sweet like fresh fruit in the summer, or like peppermint from the candy canes that hang on our Christmas tree.

Curls like the waves in the ocean on a warm summer’s day. Sitting on a boat rocking in a clam motion back and forth, back and forth. Each strand of hair seems to have more curl than the last one. For many years I always wondered where my natural hair came from. Come to learn that my father’s hair is just the same.