Photos from "The Haircut"

Haircut

Well, it happened: our nearly-eight-year-old son now has an opinion about his appearance. Although on some level this is reassuring (he has been divested in his appearance to the point of heading for school with unbuttoned pants) I find myself in a subtle state of grief. It’s not like he’s going Goth or anything, but he recently announced that he wanted to do away with his long locks. We were in the minivan driving to our triannual haircut when he sprung it on. Expecting to hear he’d endure the usual one-and-a-half-inch trim, I asked, customarily, what kind of do he wanted. Instead, I had to lower the volume of Philadelphia Chickens to clarify what I thought I’d heard: I want it short this time. It’s hard to explain why these six soft-spoken words initially gave me a lump in my throat. It may help to understand that James has a head of hair three times thicker than my own, as blond as I pay to color mine, and that the wavy locks have been approaching shoulder length for nearly four years now. Furthermore, the hair in the back curled like an ocean wave and bounced tirelessly when he ran. Once, we were even stopped in Safeway by a woman seeking extras in a movie; she was ready to cast James on the spot based on his “gorgeous head of hair!” Not exactly fond of a spotlight, James politely refused.

And that’s always been the thing about James; he’s never been the center stage type or even the stage type. Until recently, he was the boy who hid his face comfortably in the golden curtains of his hair, who liked to wear hoods and not just on cold days. But James is changing, and maybe sometimes we forget that kids are allowed to change; that, in fact, it’s their job to transform before our very eyes. From an early age, kids might seem to possess a certain temperament (for James it’s the classic introvert) making it perhaps too tempting to box them up and seal them with a label, as if we already know who they are. But of course, they don’t even know who they are at times; and all of their life long, they will be figuring it out – who they are and who they want to become. Furthermore, unexpected experiences, events and relationships will come along to help determine the outcome of their unfolding identity, causing an even greater deal of mystery. Identifiable temperament or not, it’s possible, even probable, that just when we think we have our kids figured out, they will surprise us, maybe even shock us; they will teach us and re-teach us who they are. (One would have thought that the erratic sleeping, eating and napping habits of infancy would have cemented this idea of inconstancy early on). But we’re parents; we're busy, tired, sentimental;and we like our kids the way they are -- it’s familiar. We aren’t necessarily ready for them to change (unless it means they're graduating from the tantrum stage or that they’re finally clearing their own dinner plates). It’s the bittersweet privilege of parenthood that we get front row seats to the rapid viewing of our children’s constant transformation; it’s thrilling to see a unique identity emerge yet we are aware all the while that something is being left behind.

That momentous day in the van, when James voiced his wishes for a haircut, it all came together for me like a sappy series of flashbacks in a Hollywood film. First, I recalled that in recent weeks, I’d found him on the bathroom stool trying to flatten his curls with a spray bottle (when I used to have to remind him an annoying number of times just to run a brush through it before school). Can you help me get this hair flat, Mama? he had inquired rather desperately, worry lines forming like quotation marks between his two long-lashed lids and hazel eyes. And I recalled the look of horror on his face when I explained to him that with no amount of water would his curls lie down flat. The final flashback came from a recent trip to Target when low and behold, James expressed the first of his wardrobe opinions. While I’d previously been accustomed to tossing any needed clothing for the kids into my cart with toilet paper and cat food, suddenly, James was retracting the jeans from the cart and inspecting them, only to politely inform me that the jeans I’d selected were several shades too dark. So at the end of age seven, James picked out his first pair of jeans (and come to find out, he likes a very pale, worn-looking denim).

So the signs are all there; the oldest of my three sons is coming into his own; he’s, yes, changing --figuring out what he likes and doesn’t -- all of the things he is supposed to be doing. While I did briefly mourn my longhaired James, I am happy to report that his short, becoming haircut brought with it a profound sense of rejoicing, along with a generous dose of pride pooling in my mother heart. I realize I am on this journey, too. After all, I got to teach him how to flip through magazines for hairstyles, and -- per his bold request -- I even had the privilege of molding his first faux-hawk. The new bold James inspires me. And I can’t wait to see what’s next: Rock on, James! And I’ll rock with you.

Mud

Tender at the Window I

Tender at the Window II

Tender at the Window III

Tender at the Window IV

Tender at the Window V

Blue Kamikaze

Spider

Crawdad

Fauxhawks

Henry and the Frog

Light of Mine