Dreadlock Phobia; the good, the bad, the ugly

This past week, my parents traveled from Montana to Washington to visit my aunt and uncle and we met them there for the week. It was a great week. A few of us took turns cooking dinners, we relaxed a lot, ate a lot, visited a lot- that's how we roll. So anyways. While we were there, we took one afternoon and went into the quaint little town of Sequim (where my aunt and uncle live) and did some shop-perusing and antiquing.

Trying to explain why people dread dreadlocks was always going to be a daunting endeavor. There are so many myths, stereotypes, agendas, and just plain ignorance associated and ingrained about locs; that sometimes I wondered if I could convey it to the masses. I decided the words of the people wearing dreadlocks would be undisputable firsthand accounts of the good, the bad, and the ugly of the world of dreadlocks.

                                                                

Here is a blog titled: the fine art of discrimination (dreadlock phobia) by Rachel @ Lautaret Bohemiet, that tells an interesting tale. Hope to get permission to use it in my book as well as a picture.  

Pastors = good example.

Cam and Bennett and my brother and I went into an antique shop, where we were greeted by a very elderly lady, who proceeded to tell Cam how to parent Bennett. It was very cute and funny and we took her (unsolicited) advice with a smile and ended up visiting with the lady for about twenty minutes, at which point my parents joined us in the shop.

We all continued to shop around, all the while visiting with this lady who seemed a bit bored and lonely and very eager to chitty chat. She and I spent some time looking over her antique jewelry collection (more on that later), and then I headed to the back of the shop with my mom while she and my dad visited.

During her visit with my dad, she discovered that he is a pastor. This seemed to please her, as she said something like, "Good for you!" and they kept chatting it up. It was all a very nice, friendly, feel-good experience in a small little town.

David, Cam and Bennett and I left the shop, and then the following (which I am paraphrasing, since I wasn't there) happened:

Lady: "It's hard to believe that your daughter looks like that (referring to my hair), what with you being a pastor and all."

Dad: (chuckling): "Well, you know. They get to a certain age where they do what they want, make their own choices."

Lady: "Well," (disapprovingly) "She has a child now. She needs to set a better example."

When mom told us the story later, we all got a good laugh. I mean, that's what we do. But then... then it started to bug me. We spent probably a half an hour visiting with this lady. We certainly didn't go into that store expecting to chat with a stranger for that long, but we could see she needed and wanted to visit, and so we did. We smiled. We were courteous. We made conversation. We connected. I don't think that most people our age would have taken the time to do that. It makes me really sad that she missed all of that, missed the fact that there were a lot of positive qualities in our interaction -- because she had already made a determination about me because of my hair.

Good Example, baby, Bad Example.

Looking back on our time in the shop, a few other things made sense that we hadn't given much thought to before. For starters, her unsolicited parenting advice. She told Cam that he needed to be talking more with Bennett, who was in the Bjorn, and that when Bennett points at things, we need to name them... which he does and we do ALL. DAY. LONG.  Now knowing what she thinks of us because of my hair, it makes that harmless little tid-bit of nosy advice seem a bit more hurtful. She assumed we weren't great parents (which we gathered from her conversation, but we didn't know why). How could we be great parents and look like this? Secondly, she watched pretty much everything I did. Every time I bent over to look at jewelry, she was right there. Right there. Though she was deep into my personal bubble, I took this as a friendly gesture at first. (A confusing and slightly off-putting friendly gesture.) As we thought back on our time in the store though, we realize that the reason she was watching me so closely is because she thought I was going to steal. We could be wrong, but all things considered -- the comments she made, the way she watched me, the things she implied -- she thought that because of my appearance, I must be set on ripping her off.

Dreadlocks = bad example

Loving Child = good example

I guess it's a wash...

Come on, lady! I was dressed nicely. I was showered and clean and smelled normal. I wore jewelry. I carried a cute purse. I was friendly and well-spoken and polite. I had my baby with me, my husband, my parents, for pete's sake. There was absolutely nothing about our time in the store, our actions, or the exchanges that would cause a person to believe we would be a threat or that we were "bad examples".

Ironically, hair is the one thing Bennett doesn't have, so the chances of him being tempted to get dreads are very slim.

What other bad example was I setting? I'll tell you: none.

That is why I am super bummed. I guess what I experienced wasn't really discrimination, because she did let me peruse her shop and she did make conversation with me as I assume she would do with anyone. I was, however, judged. And judged very poorly, at that.

I expect to have certain assumptions made about me because of my hair, some of which are true and some are not: hippy, lazy, free-spirit, earth-child, drug-user, dirty, free-loving, anti-government, anti-war, anti-establishment, anti-shampoo, anti-vaccines, pro-marijuana legalization, has spiders in hair... but shoplifter? Bad example?

Bummer. It bums me out.

http://theclearscamandrach.blogspot.com/2011/10/fine-art-of-discrimination-aka-judging.html