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Daddy’s Doing Hair?!?!?!? (The Poem)

So, I’m having a bit of writer’s block, so, while waiting on my muse, I decided to share another piece of the puzzle that got me started on writing  Daddy’s Doing Hair?!?!?!  in the first place.  (Like I have a “muse”!  LOL) .  Anyway, when my girls were much younger, I used to do  their hair sometimes. I did it quite often actually.  (Okay, so I feel the need to adjust some expectations here.) I’ll be be honest….they weren’t very GOOD hairstyles.  At  BEST, they  probably looked they were done by some terrorist group that decided to take over the world with some ill conceived plot that involved sending little girls to school with messed up hairdos, but hey,  I tried.  Besides, I think, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t  really about the end result.  It really was all about the journey…the bonding.  

To me it was  enjoyable because it gave me a chance to bond with them on their level.  They seemed to get a kick out of it too, and from time to time they’ll still ask me to wash it for them .  Although I think it’s just because they’re being lazy.  Anyway, I wrote the poem below a LONG time ago to describe how it all went down. I’ll share it with you because you’re family.   I think I’m going to use it in a freestanding children’s  book to accompany the release of Daddy’s Doing Hair?!?!?  Enjoy and PLEASE let me know what you think.


I Like When Daddy Does My Hair

I like when Daddy does my hair

But I’ll never let him see…

The grins and smiles on my face that show

How much it means to me.

Instead,  I fidget and fuss and twist and turn

And slouch and make faces  too…

And sometimes I pout and cry and such

And even make a tear or two.

And I stomp, and I frown

And I cross my arms, and I give my maddest stare

But  in my heart, real deep, there’s  a secret…

lean close to hear

…………I kinda like it when Daddy does my hair

I like when Daddy does my hair,

Because he listens when I talk

About “dressesssss” and “bowwwws”  and  pretty stuff

And that doll that I want that can walk

And secret places and rain and spaceships too

And flowers and frogs and kites

And jellybeans, and tea parties, and clouds, and swings

And the monster s in my closet at night…

Shhhhhhhh…….

We talk about how I love to play dress up

With  colors…reds and  pinks and blues

and bicycles, and ponies, and caterpillars too

but mostly…. pretty bows on shoes

I know he likes to hear me giggle when we talk

‘Cause I’ve seen him try to hide,

his smiles behind his “Daddy” face

but  his smiles can’t stay inside.

I LOVE when Daddy does my hair,

And he’s getting better…I saw it…last night

‘cause now instead of two ponytails pointing straight up

At least ONE of them , points straight out…to the right.

 
 

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Models, Media and Meaningful Motivation – Part One: Models

Models

 “…. And the idea is, these men are so important and so powerful, and these women conversely are so dime a dozen… that they don’t matter, they’re just eye candy, they’re worthless.”

Actor, poet and playwright

Sarah Jones 

For right now, we’re going to talk about IMAGES;  just what can be SEEN.  We’ll tackle other stuff later.  Now, to start it off, we need to do a bit of an experiment.  I’ll never ask you to do anything that I wouldn’t do or haven’t already done myself, and this is the case this time.  I did this, and was shocked by what I learned.

That said, I have a challenge from me to you.  It’s actually divided into two parts, but we’ll do the other part in a day or two when I post part two of this post. part two .  Thisa is what I want you to do.  One day, sit and watch some music videos on T.V.  Tune in to one of those music television stations. (For me, it was BET).   I want you to mute the volume and I want you to try to keep count of how many degrading images of women you see in the course of one hour.   It’s easy to figure out what you might consider to be demeaning.  Anytime you see a woman in a video, ask yourself, “Would I want to see my little girl doing that?”  If the answer is “No.” then chalk it up. (Keep this list.)

Now, here’s a bit of back story, in an earlier post (https://daddysdoinghair.com/2013/01/17/chapter-1-what-is-this-book-and-how-to-use-it/) , I referenced a conversation that I had with a young sister regarding her goals in life.  If you recall, I said that it seemed like her sole mission in life was to become a video vixen.  She wanted to be just like the women that she saw in the rap videos because she equated the attention that they seemed to get with the attention that she longed for.   Now, I need you to lean in REALLY close for this one because I need you to really hear what I’m saying.  Ready?  Here it is:  That attitude  is screwed up!

First, let’s look at the most obvious effect.  I bet that if I could dip into a young girl’s mind regarding this subject, this is how I bet thought process would go:

1)      Hey, I see the girls in the videos….

2)      Wow, they must be REALLY popular…

3)      They get ALL the attention…

4)      I want to be like that….

5)      But I don’t look like that….

6)      Maybe if I dress like that, the guys would like me, and I’d get attention too.

We could go further, but I think we’ll marinate right here for now.  If you look at it, what’s happening here is that these little girls are beginning to view their sense of self worth solely by how men view them.  They begin to think of themselves in terms of what their bodies have to offer and so, they begin to objectify themselves.  Did you catch that?  If they see this enough,  after a while, the videos won’t have to tell them that they are just objects any more, they will tell that to THEMSELVES.   This, fellow fathers, is plain old, basic, run of the mill, everyday low self esteem.  ANYTIME someone allows their self worth to be determined by how others see them, it’s because they don’t value themselves enough.  It’s just that simple.  This is a huge problem in itself, but it also leads into another problem.

To put it bluntly, most music videos and magazines now promote a slightly “Idealized” idea of beauty.   I really hope that, during your experiment, you proved me wrong, but I bet that you noticed that the majority of the women had long flowing hair, light complexions, flawless skin, impossibly perfect teeth and were perfectly proportioned.  Now, I know that when I did the experiment, none of the women in my family fit that description of beauty, so should I consider them as not beautiful?

Models are also often rail thin, showing our daughters an image of beauty that is, for the most part, unreachable without plastic surgery. In their minds, though, these are the people that they want to look like.  They don’t necessarily understand that these models and actresses work for companies with big budgets and teams of graphic designers that are pros at Photoshop.  It gives our daughters a false sense of reality, and to make matters worse, it’s a reality that they don’t fit into.

Now imagine that  you’re a eight or nine year old girl being shown constantly that  light complexioned, long haired, tall and slender, flawless skinned, perfect toothed (is that a word?) girls are the height of beauty when what stares back at you from the mirror is a dark skinned little girl with short curly hair,  thick lips, freckles, pimples, gapped teeth  and wide hips. (Or maybe you were like me with ears that didn’t quite line up properly…)  You can forget being a supermodel.  How long before you start to think you’re super ugly?  How would you compensate?  How do you make yourself more like the “pretty” women that you see?  What would you do to be one of them?  ( I learned to tilt my head JUST RIGHT when talking to people….no…really…I did.)

Talk about feeling like an outsider.

Next, we’ll talk about media, and then motivation….And maybe, just maybe, with your input, we can stumble across a solution that works.
Cheers!

 
 

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Some of my old stuff # 1 (My thoughts on Mike Tyson)

So I was just searching through old computer files and found some of my old writing. ( I have the world’s absolute WORST filing system and have stuff all over the place…much of which, I’ve forgotten about.)  Before you read it though, I have a bit of a warning for ya.  It pretty much has NOTHING to do with raising daughters.  It’s mostly just my ramblings.  Read on….if you dare!

If Grammy Got Her Teeth Knocked SCHMOOVE On Out and Why I Am DA MAN!

I have to admit, that when Mike Tyson used to knock cats out in like .5 seconds, I, (like ALL the rest of you dudes out there that are brave/honest enough to admit it)  really believed him to be the baddest man on the planet. I mean, that cat could’ve snatched Grammy’s teeth out and proceeded to use them to cut away his unruly bikini hair during the weigh in, smacked my Mama and delivered a mouth splittin’, tooth spittin right hook to Auntie Mildred on the way to the ring, hocked THEN spit in my nachos, dipped his opponents mouthpiece in my drink, took the mic outta the ring announcers hand and announced that I was a virgin until I was 39 and was born with a cleft pallet, a club foot AND pigeon toes (NOT true, by the way…the club foot thing)…and I would’ve let him get away with it.

Now that his boxing career is over, (and I’ve seen him do some interviews) …it’s a different story. Now, I  can’t wait til I catch that guy JAY WALKIN’ or something so I can drop my citizen’s arrest act on him and practice my Rodney King police brutality butt whoopin routine.  About a year ago I SWEAR  I would’ve hopped in the ring to pummel that cat profusely around the face and neck with a rain of withering combos for just leaving dangling participles at the end of his sentences. Maybe even for not knowing all the words to the theme song for the Jeffersons, or the robotic housekeeper’s name on the Jetsons. Heck, I’m even open to suggestions for reasons to ring that cat’s bell now.. I NEED a reason to go Junk Yard Dog on him….My machismo could use a boost.   Anyway…I gotta go polish Grammy’s grille….She gets a lil testy if she can’t get her “shine on”. 

Mike, holla if you want a piece!   Hasta!

 
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Posted by on March 15, 2013 in humor, life, Uncategorized

 

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Chicken Wings, White Bread and Peer Pressure (pt.2)

When we last left our hero, he was entering a night club when suddenly his face was “smooshed”.  He turns around to face his assailant, and is grabbed by a rather large friend and escorted outside the “club”…..That’s where our story picks up.

Ok, I have machismo, and I like to think that I don’t get scared of much, but that night…THAT night was pretty scary.  I guess it showed on my face, because the next thing that I remember was a NEW guy suddenly standing right next  to me.  He had one of those hooded gray sweatshirts and his hands were hidden inside the pocket in the front .   His hood was pulled up; hanging loose around his face.  He spoke to me and said,  “Hey man, what’s your name?”  I answered, “Tyrone.”.  I was half expecting him to try to throw a punch, so  I worked my Vulcan/Jedi/David Blaine mind magic on him and mean mugged him with the meanest face I could muster… He didn’t swing.  Instead,he responded, “Don’t worry, man, from now on…you’re my cousin.”  He accented his resolve with a “click, click”  sound as he pulled one of those shiny little pistols out of his sweatshirt pocket and cocked it back.

By now, most of the people that had been  INSIDE the club were standing around outside; waiting for the show. I didn’t really care about many of the onlookers though.  It was another sound that had my interest.   I distinctly remember the sound of car trunks opening and closing all around the place.  Let me fill you in on another country town fact.  It’s  NEVER a good sign to hear trunks opening and closing  when a fight is about to start.  That usually signals guns.

Yep, right on the money!    Guns were coming out all around me….most of them were really fancy lil pistols, some not so fancy.  On the not so fancy side,  my friend had taken a few minutes to go to his truck and get out a 22 rifle that was belonged  to his Dad.  Amongst all those pretty, shiny pistols, the best he could do was a RIFLE?!??! A freaking  rifle?!?!?!  He was waving it around now, screaming “Who’s messing with my boy?” at the top of his lungs.  I’m not sure if you are a gun person or not, but I know HE wasn’t, or he wouldn’t have been advertising that he was defending us with what HAD to be his  Granddad’s old squirrel hunting rifle!!!

So now, you have this crowd of about 35-45  people, most with pistols drawn.  The crowd included one maniacal best friend waving around an old 22 rifle and shouting at the top of his lungs, one new found “family  member” with a criminal disposition, looking for a reason to start a shootout, and one teenager hoping that all those bladder control exercises wouldn’t let him down, and wishing that he had at LEAST bough his big brothers’ nun chucks with him. (Hey, I didn’t own a gun…..)  To make matters worse, it seemed like everyone out there was either threatening to do something to me or daring someone to do something to me.  ( I mean, maybe it was just me, but  if they were REALLY concerned about my welfare, wouldn’t they have dared someone to shoot THEM instead of me?!?!? I’m just sayin’…)   I remember doing the math in my head, and thinking that “the odds really aren’t looking too good for the home team tonight”.  (That’s the actual quote, b.t.w.)

Anyway, eventually cooler heads prevailed…sort of.  Once I was able to get my best friend calmed down we were able to sneak off in the confusion.  I had contemplated running across one of those big empty fields, jumping clumps of dirt and possibly running into some kind of feral animal, but that would’ve been embarrassing, and I couldn’t let THAT happen.  There WERE still girls there, after all. (Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind, though.)  Now, understand, there was no “one minute we were there and the next we were gone, David Copperfield”  moment…we just kind of slowly faded into the background and eeeeeeased our way to where his truck was, and left.  Discretion really was the better part of valor on THAT night.   Thus ended the second scariest night of my life.  And you know what?  All of this was over a book that I let my girlfriends’ sister borrow; a book that she subsequently lost and told her boyfriend, the “Fish Guy”,  that I wanted to fight him over.  I told you she was the evil twin.

Tune in next time for part 3

 
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Posted by on February 8, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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