It is starting. I feel it. The tingling, itching, and tenderness. The hair! Eyebrows and eyelashes, also.

I have decided to meet this one head on. I’m going to Marietta tonight, to an African hair shop owned by my friend Ramata. We will cut all of my hair and she will make me dreads. I have always wanted dreads, but how does a white redneck country girl get away with wearing dreads in the South?

Somehow this unexpected battle with cancer has either given me courage I never knew I had or has just brought out the “Screw you, it’s my life” attitude. Having spent most of my life trying to please and get approval from others, I often feel overwhelmed with this new sense of self.

Don’t think the folks will be fans of the dreads, but they have not been fans of a lot of the choices I have made in my life. One in particular I am sure they see as a choice, but it isn’t and never was; it is just who I am. A lesbian. Not a choice but born this way. When I dream, I never dream of men. I was naive enough to think, “My folks love me today; what difference should it make if they know?” So I told them. Funny thing: it did make a difference. Know what? It wasn’t me that changed. I was the same person, with the same feelings and the same love for them that I had before and after I told my truth. I did not change, but something did.

So, like the changes happening with my hair, I am sure we will not see eye to eye but we will avoid some of the hard parts, because being a part of each other’s lives means something to us. I want them to accept and love me for who I am, so I have to do the same for them. Reflect back to them love and acceptance. I do love them, my mom and pops.