WEBVTT - Curls

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<v Speaker 1>This is Lei Habib and this is our American Stories,

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<v Speaker 1>and we tell stories about just about everything here on

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<v Speaker 1>this show, including your story. Send them to our American

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<v Speaker 1>Stories dot com. That's our American Stories dot com. There's

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<v Speaker 1>some of our favorites. Today we have Winter Persapio, an

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<v Speaker 1>author from Texas, bringing us a story from a moment

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<v Speaker 1>of motherhood. She writes essays about motherhood and he's currently

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<v Speaker 1>a humor columnist for her local daily. Here is her story,

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<v Speaker 1>entitled Curls. It takes a full twenty minutes to comb

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<v Speaker 1>through her curls. I sedate the riot of hair with

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<v Speaker 1>henfuls of slick conditioner, and said, just outside the tub

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<v Speaker 1>on her yellow footstool, combing through the long black strands

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<v Speaker 1>that spring back into ringlets after every poll, I never

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<v Speaker 1>imagined I'd have patience for this before I had children.

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<v Speaker 1>When I think back to my life before my daughters arrived,

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<v Speaker 1>I can't remember doing anything quite so methodical as mothering.

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<v Speaker 1>Nothing has ever been as demanding of skills I didn't possess.

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<v Speaker 1>I've never faced so many moments when I was at

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<v Speaker 1>the end of my rope where I was driven to

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<v Speaker 1>shouting in another human being at my own child, only

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<v Speaker 1>to apologize later, much too late, much too little. The

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<v Speaker 1>comb catches in the thick nest of twists and turns,

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<v Speaker 1>and I pull her hair slightly. She rarely protests when

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<v Speaker 1>this happens. Genetics must tie the curly hair gene with

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<v Speaker 1>the tough scalp one. This genetic combination did not include

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<v Speaker 1>the gene that extends graciousness with curious strangers. However, her

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<v Speaker 1>naturally curly hair draws compliments. Everywhere she goes. Strangers come

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<v Speaker 1>up to her with hands extended, trying to touch the

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<v Speaker 1>spirals framing her tiny face and black eyes. Only a

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<v Speaker 1>few get away with it. Most times she warns them

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<v Speaker 1>off with a staunch no touch, her arms crisscrossing her

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<v Speaker 1>head in a protective shield. Still strangers reach for the

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<v Speaker 1>curls in restaurants, on sidewalks, in doctor's offices. I'm lucky

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<v Speaker 1>I can touch them. Every day we sit in the

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<v Speaker 1>quiet bathroom. She's focused on her floating toys, I ununtangling, smoothing.

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<v Speaker 1>I become such a different person since I had children.

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<v Speaker 1>I become quieter, more careful, more aware of small moments.

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<v Speaker 1>I'm acutely aware of the chasm between my friends who

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<v Speaker 1>don't have children, and my friends who do. I've leaped

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<v Speaker 1>the canyon, never sensing the moment my feet were in

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<v Speaker 1>the air, only a few closest friends jumping with us

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<v Speaker 1>as honorary ants and uncles. Now I understand why I

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<v Speaker 1>never saw people once they had their children, why they

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<v Speaker 1>stopped calling, how they disappeared into thin air. I recognize

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<v Speaker 1>the way the strange wild space grew between us with

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<v Speaker 1>every step their children took towards solids, towards school, toward adolescents,

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<v Speaker 1>towards leaving, toward never really being gone. Across the vast chasm,

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<v Speaker 1>I see my childless friends moving on quickly as I

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<v Speaker 1>sit here, Still sit here, time turning in on itself

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<v Speaker 1>so I can see both ends of it, beginnings and endings,

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<v Speaker 1>all wrapping around my fingers. I risk a higher starting

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<v Speaker 1>point on her head, thinking I've worked out most of

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<v Speaker 1>the knots, but it's no good. I'm back to the thicctangle,

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<v Speaker 1>prying the teeth of the comb with it. She turns,

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<v Speaker 1>looking for something. The cloth has slipped back in the tub.

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<v Speaker 1>I hand it to her wordlessly. She takes it without

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<v Speaker 1>a glance and returns to her cups. That need feeling.

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<v Speaker 1>My father, a veteran of many why, always said he

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<v Speaker 1>would never marry a woman who hadn't had children. They

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<v Speaker 1>are too selfish, she said. And I wondered, as a

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<v Speaker 1>single woman in those days, how selfish I was. When

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<v Speaker 1>he married a woman with three young daughters, my stepsisters.

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<v Speaker 1>I wondered if he would be able to share her

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<v Speaker 1>with them. I leaned back for a moment, feeling the

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<v Speaker 1>dull burn in my back, and clean the comb out.

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<v Speaker 1>The fine black hair, slick with the conditioner, but still twisting,

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<v Speaker 1>coats my fingers as I brush them off onto a

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<v Speaker 1>paper towel stretched out, A single curl is long enough

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<v Speaker 1>to reach her waist, yet it will bounce back to

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<v Speaker 1>her shoulder when it's dry. I've never had her haircut,

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<v Speaker 1>nervous that the metal will somehow break the bonds of

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<v Speaker 1>this miracle flowing from her crown. Before they were born,

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<v Speaker 1>I never really noticed children before Now, when I meet

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<v Speaker 1>them as I'm out on my own in an office,

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<v Speaker 1>when someone brings her son in the store, when four

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<v Speaker 1>year olds bounds into my path, I stop purposely. I

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<v Speaker 1>kneel before them, look into their eyes and say hello.

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<v Speaker 1>They smile, usually recognizing some universal quality I've gained, or

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<v Speaker 1>maybe I just look silly crouching like a frog. All

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<v Speaker 1>the tangles are out, and I take great pleasure in

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<v Speaker 1>running the comb through her hair again and again, separating

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<v Speaker 1>strands into perfect spirals. She looks up at me. Ah done, no, never, yes, baby,

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<v Speaker 1>all done, And great job on that piece by faith.

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<v Speaker 1>As always, she did great work here, and a special

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<v Speaker 1>thanks also to Winter Prosapio. She's an author from Texas,

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<v Speaker 1>and my goodness, just what sweet, sweet and precious and

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<v Speaker 1>detailed storytelling. And that is the thing about motherhood and fatherhood.

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<v Speaker 1>It is real details you start to pay attention to

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<v Speaker 1>and patience. Well, that's the skill none of us really have,

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<v Speaker 1>and the skill that gets tested most. I was acutely

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<v Speaker 1>aware of the chasm between friends who had children and

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<v Speaker 1>friends who didn't. And it's true, it's just so different,

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<v Speaker 1>how you have to reorient your life around these people

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<v Speaker 1>of workers, these little ones of yours. Nothing has ever

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<v Speaker 1>been as demanding of skills I didn't possess. People always

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<v Speaker 1>ask me, I'm just not am I ready yet? And

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<v Speaker 1>I always tell young people You're never ready, You're just

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<v Speaker 1>never ready. I didn't have a child, till I was

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<v Speaker 1>almost forty, and I wasn't ready until I was the

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<v Speaker 1>story of Winter Persapio's daughter mother bond and well, fathers

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<v Speaker 1>and sons, and fathers and daughters know these bonds too.

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