Tru Love

Mom and I lived with Grandma Grace for eight months after she became sick and that brought us closer. I was a shy fifteen-year-old, and like most girls my age, boy crazy. My skin was dark chocolate, with deep brown eyes and short kinky hair. Although I had crushes throughout junior high and high school, my shy nature never seemed to attract their attention. One day I went to knock on Grandma Grace’s door to have one of our long conversations. She often told me about life growing up in a small town in Alabama. While sitting in her room, she proceeded to tell me a beautiful story of how she and my grandfather met. At the end of the story, I asked, “Grandma Grace, what's the secret to finding your true love?” My grandma laughed and asked, “Dashia, girl, what do you know about love?” She coughed a few times and said to me, “Well, hunny, a woman should always smell pleasant, be nicely dressed, hair neatly done but let me teach you about the “true love” my mama taught me before she died. I was only eight years old when my mama spoke her last words to me.” “I even wrote it down.” “Child, open the top drawer to the right on my dresser and pass me that little black book sitting at the top there,” Grandma Grace said. I did as my Grandma Grace asked and she opened the little black book. My grandma then began to cough uncontrollably and dropped the book. I stood up from beside her and began to pat her back. My mother, who heard the coughing from the kitchen, came in and asked me to go to the kitchen and watch the food she was cooking on the stove while she attends to Grandma Grace. Two days later, Grandma Grace died but I never forgot what she told me, “A woman should always smell pleasant, be nicely dressed and hair neatly done.” Although, I was a bit curious about what my great-grandma told my grandmother, written down in that little black book. At that time, it wasn’t important enough for me to look through Grandma Grace’s things to find the old book.

When I became a young adult, I always went out looking my best and made sure never to be caught dead without one of my signature honey blond, wavy lace front wigs, a face full of makeup about a shade lighter than my complexion, smelling fantastic in my expensive perfumes, and wearing the best brand name clothes money could buy. I was a student at a University about an hour away from my hometown while working in a small bookstore. I hated my kinky hair and dreaded wash days which required me to remove my beautiful wigs to tame my unruly kinks. I often wished I was born with “good hair,” which would be easier to manage during wash days and bring me less shame and the confidence to wear my natural hair without the wig more often. But unfortunately for me, I was born with the worse kind of hair, 4C hair. Hair which was too kinky, too coily, and way too much for me to handle. And the men I dated were like the hair I was born with, bad and unmanageable.

While at work in the bookstore, I met a 6-year-old girl named Tyanna. Tyanna had dark, carob-colored skin, deep, big brown eyes, and two coily puffs at the top of her head. Tyanna was spending the Summer with her Grandma, who brought her to the bookstore every year to purchase Tyanna some children’s books. Back home, Tyanna practiced ballet, so Tyanna’s grandma politely asked me if I could help Tyanna pick out some ballet books. She picked out a book about a ballerina with long, blond tresses and blue eyes. “I like this one!” Tyanna said. “Good choice,” I told her. “You will love this one, it's one of my favorites and the main character in the story is a beautiful ballerina, just like you,” I told her. While looking down at the book Tyanna exclaimed, "I’m just a ballerina; I wish I was beautiful like the ballerina in the book!" Tyanna then looked up at me; And like you Miss Dashia,” Tyanna said. “But you are beautiful Tyanna,” I said. “No, I’m not. “I want hair like the ballerina and yours. Then I will be beautiful,” she said. I laughed. “Don’t worry Tyanna, one day when you grow up, you can get hair like mine but trust me, your hair is beautiful just the way it is,” I assured her.

As months passed, I noticed I was experiencing some hair loss around my hairline and the nape of my neck after I removed my wigs to wash my hair. I began applying hair growth oil to those areas before reapplying my wigs every wash day. As the months passed, I noticed the problem was getting worse. “I’m only 23- years-old; why am I losing my hair? Am I sick? I don’t feel sick,” I thought. During fall break, I went back to my hometown and stayed with Mom. She advised me to go see a dermatologist before going back to the city. I set up an appointment and a week later went to the dermatologist about my hair loss, wearing a hat on top of my wigless head. The dermatologist informed me that the hair loss was due to overwearing of the lace front wigs and advised me to take a break from the wigs for a while to allow my hair to grow back. The thought of not wearing a wig terrified me. I would not be able to leave the house without my wig. I’m not Dashia without my honey blond lace front wigs. I couldn’t imagine returning to the city looking like “this.” I became depressed, so depressed in fact I decided to sit out the semester and informed the bookstore owner that I would need to take off for a few months due to “a family emergency.” The bookstore owner was understanding and allowed me to take off until Summer. I spent months in the house and when I did go out, which was rare, I made sure to wear a hat on my head. For days I would lay in bed crying as I looked in the mirror, ashamed of what I saw; a head full of kinky, ugly hair. Mama came to my room shaking her head. “Dashia, girl, come on now, it’s just hair. “You acting like you’ll die without that wig,” Mom said. But, for me, it wasn’t just hair; it was my self-worth, my confidence, my beauty. It was what made me, me.

One day my mother asked me to go down to the basement to search for old family pictures for our family reunion. As I was searching through the boxes of old junk, at the bottom of one box, I found an old, raggedy little black book. I opened the book, thinking I might find some pictures inside. Inside the book, I found a black and white picture of a woman and a young girl. I turned the picture over and written was the year the picture was taken and the words, “Mother and I.” I looked down at the first page of the book, which read, “This book is the property of Grace Jones.” “Grace Jones?” That’s Grandma Grace!” I exclaimed. I then remembered that this was the same little black book Grandma Grace was attempting to read from before she died. I looked through the book and found the statement by Grandma Grace’s mother.

“Daughter, remember this, nothing is more beautiful than a woman who has true love within herself and doesn’t allow anyone to tell her who she is or is not. This woman always walks with her head held high as if she’s counting every star in the sky. When she walks into a room, everyone notices her because her confidence shines bright, allowing her beauty to shine brighter. She loves who she is with no condition and accepts who she is not. She is kind to others and in return, others are kind to her. She gives with no expectation and loves with no limitation. Daughter, now and as you grow, remember your mother’s words, to always see the true, natural beauty within you and others will see it too.”

My great-grandmothers words to Grandma Grace brought tears to my eyes. At that moment, I realized that everything I thought I was, was a lie. I always hid who I was because although I was not ready to admit it, I hated who I was. I hated Dashia. All my adult life, I wore a mask as I struggled to find true love within. My time off inspired me to write. I wrote a draft for a children’s book on self-love entitled “Tru Love” about a little black girl named Tru who has dark skin, and kinky hair she wears in two beautiful puffs. Tru is beautiful, confident, kind, and spreads love everywhere she goes. Mom read my draft and loved it. As my hair grew back in, I learned how to style my coils and confidently wore my natural kinky hair, with light to no makeup. I was learning to truly love the woman I saw when I looked in the mirror.

Over the Summer, I began working at the bookstore again and saw Tyanna one day during my shift. I put down the books I was arranging on the shelves and approached her. “Hi, Tyanna, how are you?” I said. “I’m fine but how do you know my name,” she said. I had been so unrecognizable in my wigs and heavy makeup that Tyanna didn’t even recognize me. "It’s me, Miss Dashia”, I told her. “Oh, I see, but you look so different. You were so pretty! What happened? Now you look like me,” Tyanna laughed. I was shaken. I decided to print out a copy of the children’s book I drafted, complete with my own drawings, and comb-bound it to give Tyanna as a gift.

Tyanna loved the story and so did her grandma. Tyanna was happy to have a book about a beautiful little girl who looked like her. I started taking creative writing courses at my University, which helped improve my writing skills. Unbeknown to me, Mom entered me in a writing contest intended for aspiring authors. The grand prize was $20,000, and the winning author’s book published by the publishing company, Unique Children’s Books. One day while taking a walk at a park near me, my mother called and exclaimed, “You won, Baby, you finally made it!” Confused I asked her,” won what, Mom?” At that moment, she explained to me how she secretly entered me into the Children’s Book Competition and that I won $20,000 and the opportunity for my book to be published. I was ecstatic! I jumped up and down, screaming with excitement. I’m going to be a published author!

I dedicated “Tru Love,” to the three generations of women who helped me “find my purpose;” My Mom, Grandma Grace and Great-grandmother.

“Tru Love” was translated into 10 different languages and became a bestseller. I traveled across the country and world for book signings, interviews, and lectures, teaching confidence and self-love to little girls. Today, I look back at my life as a young woman growing into herself and her purpose. I have learned many lessons but my greatest and most fulfilling lesson, thus far, came from my great-grandmother, passed down to her daughter, and then to this once insecure little black girl in me to spread love and confidence to little girls all across the globe, from a little black book.