Of course Princeton Professor Cornel West came to mind as I browsed through my neighborhood market place this week. I was amused by the Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas competition for our dollars. I started in Dollar Tree, where I noticed plastic Christmas wreaths, cheap ornaments, and colorful Christmas ribbon next to Thanksgiving paper plates, napkins, and cups. In front of them were two bays of Halloween candy and decorations.

“What do you think about pushing all these holidays at once?” I asked the store clerk.

“It doesn’t bother me,” she said. “I won’t get trick-or-treaters at home. On Thanksgiving, I’ll go to my sister’s house for dinner; and on Christmas, we’ll go to our mom’s. The billion-dollar marketing blitzes underway to wrest our wallets and wring them dry will not persuade her. Another woman in the store agreed. “If I don’t need it, I won’t buy it,” Sharon said confidently. I was not there to argue the merits of great marketing or the tricks used to compel us to treat ourselves into brand new levels of debt by the new year. I went out to simply observe this uniquely American phenomenon. This week I can stand in the store and be wished a Happy-Halloween-Thanksgiving-and-Christmas.

I had not paid much attention to this triple, uh, treat, before now. Right now, I have a lot of time on my hands, so I am paying attention to a lot of things I had overlooked in the rush-rush of busier days. I wandered on over to the liquor store looking for signs of the holidays. A skull and bones character was perched at a wine display front and center.

“No Christmas gear?” I asked Cody, the cashier. He shook his head. He wishes Christmas was kept more sacred. He would rather not see Christmas trees in September. But! When pressed, he showed me their Christmas gift boxes stacked in a corner. “We’re putting out Crown Royal gift sets because people get liquor give sets as gifts,” he explained. They will be on display right after Halloween.

Over the years I had grown accustomed to complaints about the commercialization of Christmas. We thought things were bad when Christmas became the biggest shopping season of the year; got real mad when that season was pushed back to begin before we finished cleaning our Thanksgiving plates. I was sure that since we’re now marketing Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas at once there would be a groundswell of criticism against it – possibly led by Cornel West. (But he’s busy these days fending off critics of his latest venture – you know, the one he’s undertaken with Tavis Smiley, and getting arrested protesting against corporate greed in the Occupy protests.)

I roamed over to K-Mart and found the crass commercializing West rails against on full display – but I didn’t mind. I know many individuals are taking advantage of the extra shopping time to choose more thoughtful gifts. Some are putting gifts on lay-away, avoiding holiday debt. And many will take advantage of the early holiday offerings and fill holiday care packages their church will donate to less fortunate families in time for the holidays. There’s always an upside, right?

Outside K-Mart, racks of Halloween costumes twisted in the light winds. Inside I couldn’t help but laugh noticing the bank of Halloween cards next to the Thanksgiving greetings. A few feet away, I spotted large red, green, gold and silver Christmas bows decorating a cart of gift box colognes. But this visit got better. Not far from the cologne cart, wa-la! Christmas country! A dozen fully dressed Christmas trees stood on fake snow. Surrounding them, waist-high Dora the Explorer dolls and Sponge Bob Square pants leaned forward offering ribbon-tied Christmas gifts. Two Santas stood atop shelves full of Halloween costumes. A trail of plastic jack-o-lanterns stretched down the isles could have knocked Santa over if someone set them in motion. Yep. We’ve become a market-driven society, all right. But knowing is half the battle, right?

This year I will not spend $1,000 on Christmas gifts – not even $200. I plan to enjoy all the commercial sounds and sights, the chills and thrills of these holiday seasons without feeling compelled to fork over my cash or credit cards for the treats. I’m glad the ads were out earlier this year. They gave me time to prepare to spend less.

Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors. ~African Proverb

Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are. ~Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. ~M. Kathleen Casey

A problem is a chance for you to do your best. ~Duke Ellington

A problem is a chance for you to do your best. ~Duke Ellington

Since my hair started thinning I became committed to letting it rest. I like braids through the summer, but when I can’t afford them, I’ll pull my hair back and clip on a bun or a ponytail.  I hoped my nine-year-old neighbor didn’t get the wrong idea and think she could cut her long, silky, Iranian-descent hair and still have it the next day. She has seen me go from a two-inch bush ball to a ten-inch wavy ponytail overnight. I hope her mother explained.

We read all kinds of motives into people’s choice of hairstyle, don’t we?  One of my first mentors, a TV producer who would go on to become an Emmy-award-winner and executive, told me 25 years ago why she wore her hair natural and cut short.

“It ain’t no political statement,” she said with laughter. “It’s convenient. That’s all.”

My long wavy clip-on pony tail may be mis-understood as some self-deprecating attempt to look white. It is not. It’s a way to have fun with a whimsical look just this side of sane. A recent conversation with one of my nephews got me thinking about all our analysis of hair. Books have been written about it, movies made, songs sold.

My nephew explained to me that his dreadlocks are an exercise in – and show of – his commitment. With all the ideas and on-going debates about our hair, I had not considered the commitment we make through our hair and to our hair – whether was my late grandmother’s commitment to go to the beauty parlor every two weeks, or young women’s standing weekly appointments these days.

My Grandmother once commented on my hairstyle and asked me how I got it. Before I could say “$29.99 at the beauty supply store,” Granddad piped in. “Baby you can see it’s not her hair! It’s too different kinds!” And I thought his eyesight was fading, ha! My husband shakes his head. “You ain’t even trying to fool nobody,” he says. I’m not.

I like variety, I like style. I like variety in style. I had white male co-workers who mis-read my frequent hairstyle changes as a show of inconsistency. What? But they will keep a hairstyle for a lifetime, and that’s their frame of reference.

I have paid $400 for a good weave, $14.99 for a good clip on, and $6.99 for a do-it-yourself-perm called “Africa’s Best” made in Savannah, Georgia.  I have sat for two hours for my sister to hook me up with straight-back braids or her signature zig-zags, and I have sat four hours as a mother-daughter team worked their magic installing micro-braids. I have sat six hours waiting my turns in hair salons and decided against my that a habit, although to many women it’s a necessary luxury. The right “do” builds self-confidence on several levels.

Stopped at a traffic light, I glanced over and noticed a young man sitting at the bus stop, leaning forward, clutching a bottle of Coca Cola. He was wearing a tank top and his body was full of tattoos.  He caught me staring.

“I bet you’ve got a whole story there, you’re like a whole book,” I yelled.  “Your tattoos. I bet each one is like a chapter.”

He smiled, looking down at his chest and arms.

“Yeah. You can take me home and read the whole thing,” he hollered back.

He thought I was flirting? Yuck! Get a job and a car! I was just admiring the artwork, reminded of an old African tradition I had learned about at a museum when I was a kid.

Whether or not he knew the cultural history of body art, he was a walking display of sorts.  I was appreciating the reminder that Africans, who from what I was taught, had been the mothers of civilization, had adorned their bodies in tattoos and framed their hair in elaborate styles. They used body art to express beauty and strength, and, yes, to tell stories.  It’s too bad that body art has become synonymous with social defiance in America – but by who’s definition?

The young man at the bus stop was apparently in his early 20s. I thought about the young men I’ve seen beaten down by family members for getting tattooed. Nobody will hire you with tattoos, they are told. And the young ladies are told that when you get older and their bodies fill out, those tattoos will look horrible. Is this an undeclared cultural war of sorts? When was it declared, and how long will it last? Body art has a history, I was reminded, a history rooted in African lands. Dissertations and books have been written about it. Websites explain it. I’m guessing that the young man at the bus stop has his reasons for getting them, cultural reasons and personal ones.

As the light turned green and I was on my way, inspired by an unwitting cultural reminder sitting there at the bus stop.

I went to the riverfront one evening hoping to enjoy a beautiful sunset, but discovered the setting sun was blocked by a forest of trees. Looking for a place to sit, I was drawn to a bench under a particularly shading tree.  The metal placard on the bench read: “Sit and rest a while,” and that seemed like a good idea.

I was resting and reflecting on the day’s blessings and my life overall when I noticed the tree trunk.  I had been to the park many times over the past four years but had never noticed that this tree trunk had grown at a remarkable slant. How could a tree grow slanted, I began to wonder. I looked around at other tree trunks more closely and noticed many of the trees had not grown up straight and narrow. Many had grown in crooked, twisted patterns. I marveled at the patterns and laughed at my memories of my grandmother’s demands that I stand up straight and tall, and straighten my feet.

Stand up straight and tall – or not!

I was delighted by what I was seeing through the trees. I remembered being 12 or so and my grandmother commanding me, “Don’t slouch. Stand up like you know God made you to be somebody.” And I’ll never forget her looking down at my pigeon toes telling me, “And straighten those feet! You are nobody’s pigeon.” I had made a conscious decision to turn my feet outward, never mind my fallen arches, and when I could afford braces to straighten my teeth, I bought them. I bought invisaligns though and did not complete the straightening process because of the discomfort. But I have tried to straighten my self, my life, in many ways. I have been straightening my hair, straightening my resume trying to show a disciplined work history.  But the trees were teaching me otherwise.

I noticed trees broken at the roots just above ground. They continued to stand tall giving shade with new leaves this season. I noticed tree barks splintered in twos threes and fours. I had never noticed trees this way and will never look at trees – or people – as I had before. Some of us grow up straight and tall. Some of us grow at a slant, some are beautifully twisted and crooked at the core. Some of us break when strong winds come. Some of us bend. Some loose big branches, some of us don’t.

I also got to thinking about the uniqueness of the various trees all standing in the same area. The Willow was a Willow from the beginning and cannot become an Evergreen no matter how much it prays or tries to imitate. I will be only what God created me to be and with that realization I felt a great measure of relief.  It was as if the sun was setting on a certain set of anxieties within me. I left the park knowing the sunset I sought had not been blocked by the trees. The trees had revealed it.