James Franklin Pyles
December 13, 1982 - June 24, 2004
James did not understand black people’s hair. From his cozy neck of the woods in Owen Sound, Ontario, his interactions with people of African or Caribbean descent was limited to one guy in his high school class who was mixed. Maybe there was a fourth of African in the mixture of that guy but it wasn’t enough for James to be informed. I do not remember.
James questioned me and perhaps Lola was there too, about all things “black.” He wondered about our churches. Were they anything like what he saw on tv? Baptist? Loud? Big hats? Prayer circles with women fainting? He was misinformed but his naivety made him endearing.
I think the hair thing started with Lola. In college, she was always changing her styles. One day she’d have micro braids, then a curly sew-in with braids and many other styles who’s names I do not know. I believe once while being in her room, James saw her putting her new hair in or taking it out. If memory serves me correct, a braid fell out and he literally lost his shit. This entire time he believed all of our constant hair styles with lengths changing depending on the day, were real.
Later as he told me about this and how he could not comprehend it, he could not help but ask about my hair. At the time I had micro-braids in my hair. It was my go to style for my freshman year of college.
“But how does it work,” he’d ask full of child-like wonder. I explained as best I could but it only led to more questions. He wanted to know why we’d sit for hours upon hours to attain such a style. He wanted to know if it hurt. If the braids felt heavy. If it itched. Why didn’t we wash our hair everyday. I always prefaced these conversations with a statement of not being the spokesperson for black women everywhere. I could only speak for my hair but if I were only the 2nd or 3rd black person he had ever known and the 1st he had ever dated, I suppose for him I was the spokesperson.
“Why do you do this all the time? Why get these tiny braids. I like your hair without them,” he stated one day. I explained how these braids made my life easier. I could keep them in for months. I could wear 100 styles with them. On top of that, I didn’t have to worry about my real hair. Without the braids I’d have to relax, wash, condition, blow dry, comb, brush, flat iron, curl, and wrap my hair. Over and over and over again and I was just so sick of doing it.
“What do you mean relax?” he asked. I tried explaining a chemical relaxer to a bright eyed Canadian who had not a clue. After explaining, which blew his mind, he spoke again. “Your real real hair is curly underneath there. Like what grows out of your head is curly and you use chemicals to straighten it?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“But why. Why not wear it curly?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve just always done it this way,” I said.
“But the curls…. Are they loose, are they tight? What do they look like? Don’t you wonder? Don’t you want to see them?” He asked.
“It just takes too much work and I wouldn’t know what to do.” I said. Truth be told, I had not a clue. I had been wearing a relaxer for years and had no idea what amount of work my natural hair would entail.
He played in my hair, all the while trying to search for a hint of a natural curl. “And you have to get these relaxers every two months and then do all that other stuff.” He asked.
“Yea,” I responded.
“Is it worth it?” He asked.
“I don’t know. I just do it.” I responded.
“Do you think you’ll ever wear your real curly hair?” He asked.
“I haven’t thought about it.” I answered. James played in my hair some more.
“This is all so fascinating. I had no idea. Is Lola’s hair curly too. Are all black people’s hair really curly?” He asked.
“I think so but I don’t really know,” I responded.
He pulled me closer pretending to cuddle when really he was trying to get a closer look at my hair. “One day, I want to see it,” he said.
“See what?” I asked.
“Your hair! I want to see your curls. I want to see the real thing. It would be so beautiful!” he stated.
I smiled. “You don’t even know. You’re just saying that.”
“Anyway your wear your hair, you’re beautiful but I’m sure your real curls are even better,” he said. I cuddled even closer to him. We dropped the subject and replaced it with sweet whispers.
Every now and then he’d question a style, bring up my curls again or watch as Lola or I did our hair. But I always dismissed or ignored his inquiries about my mysterious curls. He found the whole concept fascinating. At times it was fun explaining it all and at other times it was exhausting.
Years later James died in a car crash in Israel. This year marks seven years since he died. His death has left a lasting impact on my life. One that haunts me beyond words. I miss him terribly and sometimes my grief weighs too much for my soul to carry. It was today, however, as I pinned my hair into a style, that I realized James never saw my completely authentic self. Yes, he knew me most deeply and intimately in ways no one else will ever understand. I didn’t even have to use words to converse with him. I didn’t even have to be in the same room to feel his presence. But there was one little thing, one small matter in a world full of complex understandings. James never saw my curls.
As mentioned in previous videos and post, I didn’t have a self loathing reason for chemically altering my hair. It was a habit passed down without ever questioning the reason from my family. And while another friend brought up my ridiculousness with these relaxers, I never did anything about it until three years later during my senior year of college. None of that matters though. In the end, I could care less. It is just hair. It is only a part of me, it is not all of me.
But now, I remember James fascination with my hair and his curiosity of the curls hidden beneath the chemicals and extensions. I know he saw me for who I was and despite my rocky existence in college as I dealt with my past, he still saw fit to be my friend and even at one point my boyfriend. I know for a fact, he looked deep into my eyes, pass my body and right into my soul. It is what saved me from my own self destruction and I am ever grateful.
I just wish I could have let him see more of me. I wish he had the chance to see the curls he always wondered about. It serves as a lesson to remain my authentic self at all times. From my character, to my thoughts to even my physical self. I want to be seen in my most truest form.
I’ve learned my lesson and I hope perhaps, it helps you too.
LET THEM SEE YOU.
THE REAL, AUTHENTIC, TRUTHFUL, RAW YOU.
LET THEM SEE ALL OF YOU.
Who ever “they” are. Whether they be your family, your friends, your lovers or even yourself. What ever makes you you, in your most purest form, whether its how you express yourself, how you move, or how you style your hair, LET THEM SEE YOU.
James, where ever you are…. I give you another part of me.
Here are my curls, in all their glory.
