Until yesterday, my son had one of those Justin Bieber haircuts, with the long curtain-like fringe that one has to flick every few minutes to see under.
This cut certainly has its advantages. Like allowing you to sleep in class undetected or for parents not to know what you’re really thinking, because they can’t see your eyes roll.
From incessant head flicking, each hair had acquired that perfect twist at the end, like trees get when they grow under the influence of strong prevailing winds. It was a masterpiece of pre-puberty coolness, which actually his body had already outgrown.
Naturally when he heard he was going to have to cut it he was pretty upset. I took him to the hair salon then quickly hid for cover behind one of those trashy magazines that make waiting rooms an adventure into the unknown. Peeking every now and then to see if there was a cloud of gloom building or, hopefully,
I take my hat off to his new hairdresser. Instead of selling him on a new cut he sold him on the idea that he was going to give him a cut that was actually 20 different styles in one. So any time during the day he could quickly change his look just by running his hands through it. After a few moments of hesitation, Jules was sold.
Once the deed was done, I tried to hide my delight by grumbling that his fringe still looked long. His hairdresser took some wax and demonstrated all the possibilities of the new cut. And earned himself a massive tip for his ingenuity.
As we walked out into the fresh air Jules said, “It’s so cool without my hair and…I can see around corners!”
And later, at home, after experimenting with how quickly he could change from one identity to another, he said, “I can’ wait to go to school on Monday!”
All my fears about being the big bad mother were momentarily put aside.
Mea Culpa: This story was sent to me as website editor in September 2013 and I totally screwed up. It disappeared behind my radar screen and was never posted. My apologies to Jenna for my technical foibles and her story too. JM.