Hair is just hair. I know.
My son has always had long hair. His soft, blond locks, still smelling like babies has never been trimmed by anyone but me. It complimented his cheekiness, free spirit and confidence. It was the way he wanted it, always refusing us to cut it. It reminded my husband of himself as a young boy. It made my son stand out, be different. It was adored by his teachers, envied by his friends. It was his thing.
Then a few weeks ago Little J said he wants his hair cut like Daddy’s. I thought it was just a phase he was going through, missing his father while he was out of town.But upon my Husband’s return Little J announced he will be going to the barbers with him next time he goes to have his haircut. It was settled, my boys were going on Sunday.
I reasoned it was something they should do together, as men. But truth be told, I could not bear to go along. I don’t know why. I give all his clothes away as he outgrows them. I throw away most of his school projects. I let him learn his mistakes, run fast, jump high, fall hard. I look forward to him growing up, evolving, changing. I am excited to meet the man he becomes and never hold him back. But the haircut…
He walked in so proud of himself and so handsome. His face is shining. I catch him admiring his reflection in the mirror. It is the first huge decision he has ever made for himself. I am happy. He is on his way to become a man to make me proud. He already is a boy that does, every single day. But he is not a baby anymore.