It's a style absent from my head for much of life, because my mother, second youngest of twelve, had little chance to learn and practise before she came to England. And there was no one in Sussex who was going to do it for her.
It's a style absent from my daughter's hair because I am clumsy-fingered and never learnt from my mother.
It's little - often white - girls coming back from a beach holiday with their hair pulled back tight.
It's Bo Derek and the look of weariness on my mother's face when suddenly braids could be fashionable.
It's Gina Yashere's joke about the above.
It's Nia Imara, at the Black Fatherhood event last October talking about how his young daughter cane rows his hair - a sign of care and tenderness.
It's black parents dreading their small children rolling in the sand pit because that style took time and sand and hair grease are long-term stubborn companions when they get to meet.
I know I'm wading in a bit late with the cane row/corn row debate, but my incredulity thermometer is still frothing at the top. When I give talks or deliver training, I always stress the importance of practitioners from different backgrounds talking to each other and understanding each other, gaining confidence in the words thay need to use and the different world views they can consider, hopefully bolstering up their confidence to talk with the children and parents that come through their doors.
Because surely - wouldn't one quick chat with a black member of staff (or friend?) disarm any notion of cane row being associated primarily with gangs?
While researching the names on the Queen's Birthday Honours list, I came across this picture of Non Evans, the all-round star sportswoman who received an MBE.
She has an impressive bio, competing internationally in rugby union, judo, weightlifting and freestyle wrestling. I have no idea of her ethnic heritage, but cane row definitely seems to indicate success. I'm hoping she collects her gong with her hair like this.
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