In the beginning, God created me with straight black hair. I might have grown up with straight black hair, had I not been introduced to curiosity. One day, in my extreme youth, when my form of transportation was to scoot on the floor or scurry around on all fours, I decided to go exploring. My fingers sank into the soft tufts of yarned carpet, that helped propel me forward, as I liked going fast. My dark straight hair flowed behind me in the wind I created when I soared along the carpet, aiming toward a plastic block on the floor. When I reached it and snatched it in my hand, I bit into it. The bland taste of unedibleness erupted in my mouth while I sucked on it, not enjoying the taste that much, but enjoying the amount of drool that flowed from my mouth and onto my shirt that mommy had tried to keep clean by guarding it with a bib.

My eyes scoured the horizons. There was the giant plastic ball that I could try to climb on, or I could chew on the arm of the smiling purple dinosaur that liked to dance and sing on the tv box–or–what was that not on the floor? But rather, connected to the giant white board that mommy didn’t want me coloring on? Daddy left out his cool thing that I was not allowed to touch–the thing that made the light go on! I flew toward it and gazed upon the treasure before me. It was open, open like my mouth when mommy makes the airplane noises before shoving applesauce into it. I peered inside and saw colorful strings. Strings kind of like on the carpet, only they weren’t brown and orange. Instead they were…different…magical…

I heard some sort of shrieking in the background, probably from Mommy, but since she always spoke a different language than me, I ignored her and reached my hand in to grab the string. What I felt was…shocking, I suppose is the word. And I wasn’t able to pull the pretty string out. Mommy rushed to me as I felt like I was lighting up like the lamp on the table. She pulled me away and I think I fell asleep. But next thing I knew, Mommy was doing something to my head. She pulled the round silver thing that showed another baby and I saw the other baby–the baby that usually had straight black hair like I did–only she looked different! Her hair was lighter, like the lamp, and it wound around air all over the place, poofing in all directions. And that’s when Mommy told me that now I’m stuck with curly hair, like she was, because I didn’t listen to her when she was screaming in her foreign language.