Clean Fro

Whitney writes...

My fro was big bad and beautiful. Oh yes it was. I decided to go natural in the eleventh grade and right before my freshman year of college, I had substantial growth. Let’s just say my fro was about a foot in diameter, seriously. I rocked it! During my journey, I noticed the little balls on my ends and was afraid to go to a salon. I knew they would slip a relaxer in without me noticing. (I had a dream they did this while I slept in the chair). I decided to ask my dad. "Daddy, where can I go to have my ends trimmed." He quickly and assuredly replied, "Go to my barber shop. I see them do women’s hair all the time." I trusted him. I just knew he was right. I got up on a Saturday morning, picked my hair and headed to the barbershop. When I arrived, the men looked at me in awe. I chimed in on their shoptalk and male gossip until I was called to the chair. The barber picked my hair and turned on the clippers. I was really confident too! He picked and clipped. Pick...Clip Pick. Clip. Clip. I paid the man and walked out, not noticing how light my hair felt. As a matter of fact I don't even remember looking in the mirror when I left. I just paid and walked. I ran into an OLD man who said to me "Wow sista, I haven’t seen that style in a long time." Huh? I got in the car and behold, my fro was CLEAN. I mean straight lines and all — at least 3 inches shorter. I felt like my life was over. I was officially soul sista number 1 back from the 60's, but I swear there was not one ball on my ends. I cried and laughed at the same time. Why do these things happen to good people?