Jack: You know I consider you my brother, right? We grew up together, in and out of each other's homes, we played ball together, we would always change classes so we were in the same one. You want to blow all that up, or did you forget?
Raymond: Oh no, I remember. I remember you never having to take life seriously. I remember me busting my ass while your father let you use the corporate credit care like your personal bank. And every time you messed up, which was a lot, you never had to suffer any consequences.
Jack: Maybe I'm just a lucky guy.
Raymond: You were a privileged white kid raised in America. Meanwhile, I had to do everything damn near perfect to survive. Yes we were raised together, but no, we're not the same.
Somebody asked what my first memory of hair was. I was sitting between my momma's legs, getting my summer braids, looking cute, screaming bloody murder because I was so tender-headed, and one day she put the comb down. She told me a story that back in Africa hair patterns were as good as fingerprints.Braids could tell you a person's tribe, marital status, and social positions. Our crowns were our identity. When the slave ships came, one of the first things they did was shave our hair so we couldn't tell kin from kin, so when we landed here a new hair culture needed to be born. We grew our hair back, we took back what was stolen. We used our hair to communicate. We found power in hair. That's what my momma taught me, that no one could take your identity or make you forget who you really are.
Angela
