my brother-in-law<\/a>\u2014 which to this day I don't understand how my older sister chose that jerk and, without a doubt, deserves a chapter of its own \u2014 sexually harassed my other sister and even said, among other obscenities, that I would be "gay" when I grew up.
And of course, the day my father was confronted about having another woman and grabbed my sister's head to try and smash it against the corner of the bunk bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\nThese memories are as vivid as the smell of henna that used to wake me up on Saturday mornings.
I even remember the Pyrex dish\u2014a piece that lasted for over 40 years and would be historic in the museum of my life\u2026if my one-year-old daughter hadn't smashed it two months ago!\u2014where they prepared that menacing goo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yes! I remember exactly the phrase "be careful, it'll burn you!" and how I wondered how they managed to apply that stuff to my hair, which was so unbearably hot on my fingertips\u2014the strong smell of which, although unforgettable, left no fond memories.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They were young and vain to submit to that procedure... but I, the youngest and last-born son, besides seeing no logic whatsoever in that ritual, even hated it when they insisted on combing my hair.
None of the reasons they gave me (cleanliness, beauty\u2026) managed \u2014 and this continues to this day! \u2014 to make me like, even for a moment, the damned kinky hair I was born with: the driest and curliest hair of all of Dona Nair's children!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hair Hatred and Innocence<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
This hatred for hair was innate, present since the time of my purest innocence.
I remember when I used to imagine that my cousin Tania, who was studying medicine, might one day be able to have a "hair transplant".<\/p>\n\n\n\n
To gauge my level of innocence, I think that cousin of mine, blonde by the way, was one of the first crushes of my life.
Whenever she arrived somewhere I was\u2026 I would run to hide, even under the bed! I can't explain the childishness that overcame me, but I suspect I found her so beautiful that I was embarrassed to be near her\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My Terror: The Barber!<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
\u201c"Barber" was a terrifying term, not because of the scissors, but because of the comb he used to "untangle" that damned bad hair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I remember an episode where, taken to a strange barber by the random figure of my father, I was so "stretched" that I spent the entire weekend with terrible headaches! I even had to take medicine, because I don't know what that tormentor did to my scalp, but it was so bad that it even triggered a fever... a high one!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I must be quite old, because I'm here trying to remember and I only recall the appearance of the "machine" facilitator during my adolescence.
I think I was born so poor that this wasn't common in my field: all I can say is that, when it seemed things were going to get better, that damned puberty came along, and with it, the first signs of a... chronic folliculitis acute<\/strong> which would cause me much shame, pain, and discomfort for a good part of the years I lived!<\/p>\n\n\n\nA Wrong Diagnosis<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
Ah! Don't think that the diagnosis, which I handed over so readily in the previous paragraph, was easy.
In the initial symptoms, it was thought to be some kind of allergic reaction to the barber's clippers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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\n
Later, taken to the health center, I was treated as if I had psoriasis and forced to live with that pathetic diagnosis for many years!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In short: they were blisters, like pimples, that burst, forming sores on the back of my head, from the hairline all the way to the top of my head.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n