My Dreadlock Journey Begins

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I used to hate dreads. I lived in Humboldt County for cryin’ out loud. Humboldt is the Trustafarian Dreadlock Mecca of North America. All year long, dirty pot-smoking kids would come up in search of the Humboldt Myth, panhandling their way around, looking for drugs, causing trouble and cluttering downtown Eureka and Arcata with their encampments. Every nasty stereotype about dreadlocks was represented in the North Coast, and I despised that look.

But as the story goes . . . then I hit the road, and everything changed. I stopped making assumptions about people, and then I met a cool Christian gal traveling in a veggie-oil powered bus with her hubby and daughter. And she just happened to sport dreads. She’s a smart, drug-free Mom living a ultra healthy life and defies every negative stereotype about people who wear dreads. She’s a dreadlock-wearing rebel, and if there’s anything that I really respect, it’s a rebel with a cause.

Something about dreads started to intrigue me. You have to possess a strong commitment to grow them right, they’re really practical when you’re on the road, and they look really nice if you maintain them and don’t let them turn into a big peanut looking thing. And they can teach people to stop making assumptions.

Suddenly, I wanted to grow my own. I’ve tried every hairstyle there is, and I still haven’t been happy with any of them. So what the hell. I’m in the process of growing out the shortest haircut I’ve ever had, and by summer, my hair will be long enough to backcomb and begin the process.

They’ll mean even more to me, because my best friend in the world is going to come out and help me do them, since hubby isn’t thrilled about the idea of not being able to run his fingers through my hair again.

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