I am friends with an eleven year old girl. Her name is Emily.
Emily is a wonderful girl, and at a wonderful age. She’s starting to experiment with rebellion, although it’s perfectly innocent in nature, she’s still fully enchanted with the world, and she still thinks that adults in their early twenties are cool to hang out with.
Last week I made some traditional Eastern European bread. It’s a family favorite, and I love both making and eating it. Right after I’d made it, Emily stopped by and had some with me. She’s on summer break, and she doesn’t really have anything to do during the day. Most days she stays at home and watches TV. When she came over, I showed her how to eat the bread I had made and what it tastes best with. Many people in this culture are skeptical of any food that they’re not familiar with. But after taking a bite, Emily exclaimed, “I love this! What is it called?” Elated by her enthusiasm, I told her the name. And she pronounced it perfectly. She then asked me on multiple times to teach her how to make them. Instead of making them with her immediately, I gave her a container full of them to take home.
We started talking about hair, and I complimented her braids. I mentioned that I would love to have her braid my hair. Would she do that for me?
Two days later I was on my way to Emily’s house, when I ran into her on the street. We walked together to her house, and once inside I took off my headscarf and said, “Well, this is my hair. Do anything you want to it,” anticipating a two-ish hour commitment. She paused for a moment as her eyes grew wide. “Anything???” After thinking for a few moments, she went a grabbed a pick, and several small plastic binders. “Sit here,” she said, pointing to the floor. Once I did, she pulled me back further and wrapped her legs tightly around my shoulders. Most of my hair went up into a bun. She pulled a small section around my neck down first, and started braiding.
Six hours later, my hair was completely braided. While she was working, Emily said she wanted to put false hair in with my braids, but I did my best to divert her away from that idea. In the end, my foreigner hair was completely encompassed into tiny braids. Perfectly sectioned, and aimed so as to create a part in my hair. Although my hair texture was less than desirable for such a hair style, her technique was perfect, and her mother came out to compliment her work when it was done. Emily was so proud.
I’m looking forward to a summer hanging out with Emily. Eleven year olds are the best.