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It has been 7 weeks since I began locking my son’s thick head of luscious curls, and things are  wilder than a jungle in there. It has been my first time visiting my hometown and my family absolutely hates his hair. Most strangers hate his hair. Gone are my rantings about well-meaning old ladies petting my son. Nobody wants to stick their hand in his tangles lest they lose a hand an

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ymore.

  It is not always easy seeing the transition when people are not so enthused about locs. But I don’t want to lose my vision. To me, locs represent a spiritual connection, wisdom and a distinct Afrocentric aesthetic. They allude patience and reflection. They are an art form. But yes, lint is a MFer, and they are fuzzy and admittedly, do look like a tangled mess as they form.

  Locs are not ugly or bad, they are simply  misunderstood. My son’s locs are a constant visual reminder to fill his head with knowledge so he will be wise, and to allow him to be. With his unlocked hair, assimilating into the soulless Western culture, it was easy to lose that vision.

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  So yes, natty dread. My lion of Judah. Child of Ra. This stage is not always fun, but it is the start of a beautiful journey, hair budding as his consciousness buds too.

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