#burbie chronicles

[charlotteburbie-blog]

Bad Hair Day? No Way!

In the Urban Dictionary, the term “bad hair day” describes a day when everything is going wrong and the phrase has nothing to do with how coiffed one’s hair really is. Not! When I say I’m having a bad hair day, that’s exactly what I mean.  My “do” has become undone—either because of bad weather, an overdue hair appointment or a hairstyle that just doesn’t agree with me. From my perspective, if the hair isn’t right, the look is just all wrong!

So what’s does this burbie do between beautician stylings? Here are a couple of my secrets…

Rock-a-wig: You remember back in the day when your mom used to pull out that church wig? Or, when she went on vacation and wanted to look super-fly with a super-fro. Fortunately, times and wigs have changed.  Today’s wigs can be fun and well—sexy. Now I know there are a lot of sistahs who spend big bucks on a custom-made wig. Personally, I can’t justify spending $400+ for some hair but that’s just me. I think you can get some pretty nice wigs in all shapes, sizes and colors for a fraction of the price that can at least tide you over until you get to the hair salon.

Hair Pieces: Maybe a wig is just team-too-much for you, I get it. They can be hot, itchy, and just not be the right look. If that’s the case, try a hair piece. I love them. I wear them with braids and without. I find that if you put hair ornaments around them, they look less artificial. As long as your hair looks neat, who cares if people know that the pieces aren’t your “real hair?” Although, I think you’ll probably be surprised by the response. One woman said to me, “Girl, you have got to tell me how you get the top of your hair like that.” I told her, “Come with me to the beauty store and I will pick you out one just like it.” She was stunned.

Keep a Stash: When I was at Black Enterprise, we’d sometimes have to go to events after work. Sometimes we got notice, other times we didn’t. The joke was, in a pinch, you could go to the Robyn Clarke hair salon. Robyn was the Career’s editor and she kept a curling iron, hair products, and some other beauty agents in her drawer. She could transform the worse hair into a masterpiece by adding some nice clips and a little heat. Now, I keep my own little beauty stashes in my desk and in my car.  Just yesterday I was invited to two after work events. Did I fret? Nope. I tapped my stash and was ready to roll.

Keep It Simple: Simple styles work best from a time perspective and a branding perspective—especially if you’re in need of a hair appointment. A pin up works well if you touch up the edges with a curling iron or flat iron (see pic 3 below). Alternatively, I sometimes wear my natural hair in a wash-and-go using Cantu’s Shea Butter Coconut Curling Cream and Eco-Styler Olive Oil Gel. If my natural hair is at the end of a blow out, I will sometimes put braids in the night before and take them out in the morning for a spirally natural look. I did Kyla’s hair like that the other day—very cute! I try to stay away from the single ponytail look. To me, that screams I didn’t have time to do my hair so “here” it is. But, that’s just me.

Alright my No Bad Hair Day Secrets are out. There’s no excuse for a bad hair day, there are too many tools and jewels to keep that “do” nice and poppin’.

[charlotteburbie-blog]

Donald Trump in the Classroom? You betcha!

So Myles comes home upset last week because a boy in his class hurt his feelings and he wasn’t quite sure how he should respond. After hearing the events that lead up to Myles’ bad day, I needed a minute to think about how I should respond. I also wondered if this would be the first of many times my children would be “trumped” at school.

Apparently, this 11 year old thought it was his role to spread President Trump’s rhetoric about various racial groups among his peers. First, he spewed out inflammatory language about Mexicans. As a reminder, our President referred to Mexicans as rapists, criminals, and killers--insisting that America needs to build a wall to keep them out of the country. It seems President Trump has made Myles’ classmate quite a believer of these lies.

But wait, there’s more. Myles said the boy then started spreading negativity about black people. To further underscore his cruelty, he found a picture of a black person with a painted face and proclaimed, “And that would be you Myles!”

The other classmates, who were just as upset as Myles, asked the kid outright: “Are you a racist?”

And that elementary student faced his peers head on admitting that indeed--he was a racist.

I wrote the teacher and the principal the very next day, recounting the events as they were told to me. The teacher responded today stating that she spoke to the student and his parents and that Myles would receive a written apology.

A forced apology is better than nothing but will that punishment really change the heart and mind of the boy who hurt my son so deeply? Probably not.

I wonder if President Trump knew that when he said those irresponsible statements that those words would one day be used to crush a little boy--an elementary school student who on his worst day is the sweetest person I know.

I wonder if our President knew that.

[charlotteburbie-blog]

Hoop Dreams!

Think all black boys can jump? If so, you’re wrong… DEAD wrong. Sometimes I think the McKenzie Boys (AKA my sons) have boulders in their shoes. They have no flight. As a result, we’re constantly bumping heads because when I direct them to take an opponent to the hoop, they look bewildered. Of course, they think I’m clueless as well as they argue, “Mom, all black boys don’t play basketball!”

But they don’t understand: I don’t want ALL black boys to hoop—just my two!

I have tried everything to help my sons develop a wicked jumpshot (ok, just hit the rim for goodness sakes!)  Thus far, airballs!

When they were ages 5 and 6, I hired a basketball coach (see video). Myles—bless his heart—was slipping and sliding all over the court. At one point, I think he got hit in the face from a simple pass. Though Tyler gave it the college try, he also had a hard time. "Time for another plan," I reasoned.

For the last few summers, I put the boys in Ricky Price’s Game Ready Skills and Development Camp. I thought meeting celebrity basketball stars and playing with other African American boys their ages would get them pumped. It had the opposite effect. The other kids were shooting for the pros while my boys—who hadn’t even mastered dribbling—just resided to the bench for the week.  Miss!

I then concluded that a more basic course would boost their proficiency in the game. So, my next play was to put them in a CMS (Charlotte Mecklenburg Schools) sports camp. This option was for Beginners so I figured Ty and Myles would be paired up with other kids of similar skill levels. No net!

So what’s a wanna-be basketball mom to do? Throw in the towel?  You bet!

I’ve finally accepted the obvious—basketball just isn’t their thing. The truth is I leaned on basketball because it reminded me of my childhood. My male peers practically grew up on the court. It was where they developed friendships, talked smack, gained confidence, got exercise, and learned teamwork. Beyond that, basketball was a large part of inner-city culture. It was what black boys did!

That brings me to my last point; I secretly hoped basketball would help my sons develop camaraderie with other black boys. Don’t get me wrong, I love what our suburban life offers.  The elementary school, for example, has great resources, enthusiastic teachers, and delivers high test scores. But, fact is—it’s only 6% black.  At one time, my boys looked like a fish out of water around other black kids. I believed that that basketball would close the gap. But, that wasn't reality.

My kids strive and thrive in a host of other activities--both in and outside of the classroom. Aside from excelling in academics, Tyler competed on the Science team and Myles does stand-up comedy and pens his own comic books. And who says the majority of their friends have to be black? Friendships are where you make them and they come in all colors. Admittedly, I was putting my old school ways on them.

Sure, my kids will never know what it is to hang out in Foster Avenue park with a cup of shaved ice (topped with condensed milk) dripping down your arm as you watch the neighborhood boys battle on the b-ball court. But, they'll have their own memories. I can’t relive my past through their futures. They need to be free to take their best shots—even if the extracurricular activity is outside of basketball.  I just hope they’ll put their game controllers down long enough to listen to me reminisce.

In the meantime: Kyla, it’s time to get the double-dutch rope out!