Above: Marcus Musson in Austin
Every Saturday evening, my mother would sit my sister and I down in a high chair and spend close to an hour on each of us, styling our hair. Some Saturdays she’d let me stay up late with my older brother and watch a little bit of In Living Color, as she lovingly curled and twisted my locks. The rolling credits and the finishing touch of the stocking cap on our heads always signaled that my mother’s masterpiece was complete and secure.
