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I wasn't alone in this. My twin sister is my witness and co-survivor. We were so excited the first time we got our hair relaxed right before starting kindergarten. Finally we'd get to wear our hair out instead of in long fat braids. The pretty pink box filled with a jar of white cream, applicator, tube of neutralizer and plastic gloves attached to a huge pamphlet of directions made it almost seem like a new toy. The smiling, happy looking brown girls with Shirley Temple curls and cute ribbons on the outside of the box made it look so promising. We were only five and couldn't read the words: "this product contains lye."  Little did we know our scalps were about the fry. Little did we know that it was all a lie. The damage from the chemicals caused our hair to break. It never looked as nice as the little girls on the box and was still vulnerable to the hazards of humidity. It would frizz and puff up like a Chia Pet. In my mind, based on images in the media we were taught to think of as beautiful, I thought I was ugly. I envied my straight-haired cousins whose hair fell loosely over their shoulders.

I can't remember the first time I heard the words pelo malo (bad hair), or when they were first applied to me, but I heard them often enough. In most cases it was said in a casual matter-of-fact way by relatives who didn't realize they were damaging my self-esteem and who were unaware of their own shame and self-hatred. It was just a given back then (and sadly for many still is) that unless you had pelo lacio--long, flowing, straight hair--that your hair was bad. There were other times I was told flat out that I had pelo malo by mean-spirited kids.  Nappy-head, afro-head and Brillo-head were other phrases slung at me depending on the cruel imagination of whoever was doing the name calling.  In the mid ‘80s there was a wild-haired WWF tag team, two brothers that went by the name, The Wild Samoans. Guess who got called The Wild Samoans every time it rained? 

It took a long time to embrace the beauty of my hair and what it's not. It's anything but bad. And if it's bad, then it's bad in a good way; in a soulful sexy way, like Chaka Khan, Diana Ross, Pam Grier bad (if I comb out all the curls). It can be curly in a tame way or wild way. It can be straight in the healthy (no chemicals necessary only gigantic rollers, hair dryer, blow dryer and a doobi) Dominican peluqueria way. I don't have pelo malo. What I have is pelo vivo, hair that is "alive." My hair is fly, beautiful, versatile, sexy, lively and free! Today I embrace the truth and loveliness of my hair. My hair is a product of and tribute to my beautiful abuelita, mother and my African ancestry. I am proud of my roots.

Mariposa aka María Teresa Fernández is an award-winning Nuyorican poet, whose work has been featured on the critically acclaimed HBO documentary Americanos: Latino Life in the United States.