Thoughts on Dead Dreads

This is my hair, as you can see. As you can also see, it is not attached to my head any more. It is the proverbial bag of hair that some people are accused of being as dumb as.

Perhaps I have stressed over too many woes. I do have a tendency lately, to sweat the small stuff. Perhaps I have not taken care of it properly. Perhaps it is the normal order of things: to lose a few dreads once in a while.

Whatever the reason, here they lay, waiting for my loctition to re-attach them.

I have often wondered what the conversation would be like if I sent some of my hair into a forensics lab to have it evaluated. What if I was at a crime and left some of my hair. Would they be able to determine my sex, age and race? Would they take one look and say, “Elementary, my dear Watson,” or would they be left scratching their heads? If I sent in an entire dread it would probably be a sure giveaway. But if I sent just a few unlocked hairs…. What if I sent in a permed hair, or if I dyed it and then sent it in. What then? Would they ever guess it was a dyed permed hair from an albino Black female?

These are the serious world matters I contemplate. I’m not going to lose any hair over it.