Being a writer is hard when you are super busy with your family and little thoughts pop into you head, you have to try to jot things down while driving, in the school, brushing your teeth – basically anytime and then if you are lucky at some point in your life you will find said jots and actually make something out of them.
My most reason thought written on the back of an envelope, “so you feel like you made a difference in the world because you gave a homeless bum a dollar”
Random? Maybe. Relevant? Sure.
Today another thought popped into my head after finally finishing a two day process of cutting my son’s curls that he’s been growing for a year and a half. This one I couldn’t jot – I had to open and write; so here I am.
My son has been trying to get me to cut his hair for awhile now, I told him that it’s his hair so he can if he wants but that I love it and everybody loves it, and that I wanted him to be really positive because it’s a huge transition from a mountain of dreading curls to bald especially in the start of fall in New England. And I have been bartering with him – if you keep it in a bun for a week and you still want to cut it you can. If you really really want it cut then tell me on Sunday etc.., he did. He did not fall for any of my stalling or bartering, or guilting, “I love your curls! I don’t want you to cut them”
It all held him off for a couple months, but the eventual result was in the morning before school he said, “mom I NEED you to cut my hair right now.” So I did.
It took two days to get it all finished because at first he wanted a Mullet style – or West coast style or whatever you want to call it, but then the next day (today) he wanted it bald on top and long in the back – then after seeing it he just wanted it all off.
I cut it all of this morning, even the 10+ inch braid that I tried to convince him to keep as a rat tail, “MOM you said it’s my hair and I can cut it how I want!” He tells me and he knows he is right. SO I cut the last braid and hold back my sadness that my curly haired boy now looks like a sexy little guy. He’s 7.
This got me thinking about knowing yourself and your needs and what you really want despite what anyone (including your mother) has to say about it and it makes me feel so .proud and super happy that I am raising kids that know what their needs are and that I am the kind of parent that allows for that space and growth and individuality.
My childhood was very different. My hair was not allowed to be cut. I wasn’t even allowed to have bangs, I did eventually cut them myself and my father was pissed. I wonder why though. I really sense that it was only a control mechanism which he used as part of many others to keep my sister and I under lockdown from any free will; everything was his way or nothing.
My only reasoning for not wanting my kiddo to chop his locks was that they were gorgeous and I thought that he may regret it after and it takes a long time to grow back. We’ve already had one child who went from super long hair to almost pixie and immediately hated it because the kids at school would not stop commenting on it; it looked great but she couldn’t enjoy it after that.
Why keep a kid from styling their hair a certain way? I can understand some extremes but my father allowed nothing except my natural grown hair – straight long and boring. For me it became a habit that now I am afraid to do anything exciting or drastic my hair is literally the same as it was then. My sister went the opposite route and has done any and everything you can imagine – bald, dread, green hair, mohawk, everything.
It just gets me thinking that children are rarely viewed as competent and actually they can and should be allowed to make these types of decisions because 1. it will grow back and 2. it’s their hair and they are going to always have it. Who gives a shit? Really.
That’s what I had brewing in my mind this morning. Now to brew a cup of coffee and get this laundry switched.