The Hair Talk: What I Didn't Know About My Black Children's Hair
May 31, 2025When my children were toddlers, I remember a moment in the grocery store—an older Black woman looked at my kids and said something about their hair. She was kind and gentle but I was taken aback. Defensive. Embarrassed.
Inside, I thought, Why are you criticizing me? I was doing my best. At the time, I didn’t realize what I didn’t know.
Here’s the thing—I had taken the hair classes. As part of the adoption process, I’d gone through mandatory training. I’d listened. I’d taken notes. Over the years I had received a dozen recommendations for hair products.
But finding the right product for your child’s hair is another story. No class can prepare you for the moment you open the sixth jar of cream, try the fourth curl pudding, and your child still wakes up with a tangled halo. (And don’t even get me started on how long wash day takes.)
Let’s be honest: most of us are picky about our own hair products. So imagine walking into a beauty supply store for the first time, staring at a shelf full of ingredients you can’t pronounce, and trying to figure out what magic formula your child’s curls need.
Years later, I look back at photos of my twins—adorable, grinning, and yes… dry hair, no curl definition, breakage I didn’t even notice. That woman in the store wasn’t being harsh—she was caring. Her comment wasn’t judgment; it was protection. It was the kind of accountability that helps Black children thrive and stay connected to their identity. But back then, my whiteness only heard blame.
The world I was parenting in had not prepared me for this level of learning. I had no Black role models in my inner circle, no one who had taught me about the deep care Black hair requires—or how it is, in itself, a source of pride, identity, and resistance.
I get it now. I cringe at my earlier ignorance but try not to dwell in shame. Shame can paralyze learning. So I look, I remember, and I do better.
Because what our children hear—when strangers ignore their names, misgender them, or comment on their unkempt curls—is this: You are not fully seen or celebrated.
As parents raising Black children, especially if we are white, we must learn to hear what’s underneath the suggestion or critique. We must stay open to correction, not as condemnation but as care. Our children need to know we’ve got their backs, and that starts with learning what we didn’t know.
And then—doing better.
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