A Hairy Decision

Presley was completely bald until he was a year old, and even after he sprouted some hair, it was only a little tuft of fluff on top until he was close to two. But by the time his hair really grew in, there was no way we were cutting it off. Gorgeous blonde locks to frame his perfect angelic face. He was never once mistaken for a girl. And with a name like Presley Steele, he was born to have Rock & Roll hair. It fit his free-spirit and his deep, husky little voice. I was in love with it. (I'll admit that I was also in love with how his father's pretentious side of the family scoffed at it.) But it wasn't just my own vanity. Pres loved his hair, too. Whenever you asked if he wanted a hair cut, it was a flat, "No. No further questions, please" in toddler-speak. And I'm a firm believer in letting kids rock their own style, within reason. Long hair is within reason. The day he asks for an eyebrow ring will be met with much different results.

At three and a half, he's far more active than he was, say, last summer. I always picked him up from school with flushed cheeks during the warmer months, but this year he's been coming home red, panting, and soaked. I honestly didn't know that little kids could sweat so much. I thought that didn't start until puberty. Ha. Anyway, he's complained a few times recently about being "itchy" because all of his long beautiful hair sticks to his face and neck. It's extremely uncomfortable, and impossible to remedy without a rubber band. I know this from personal experience, which is why my hair is up 24/7 from May to September in Kansas. The weather is sticky enough as it is. Itchy hair grabbing at your defenseless neck hardly makes it more bearable. He may be cool enough to pull it off, but no way am I sending my kid to school in a ponytail.

















Saturday morning, I bribed him into a haircut. I held back tears as an impossibly huge pile of hair grew on the floor, one pass of the clippers at a time. By the end, I was beside myself. I couldn't believe the transformation. I haven't seen the shape of his head since he was an infant. He looked like a completely different kid, and I didn't know whether to cry out in woeful remorse or celebrate that he didn't lose one bit of beauty with his hair. Naturally, I opted for the latter so he wouldn't read my face and get upset himself. I think he was in shock as much as I was. We styled it in a little mohawk, and I am still agape and doing double takes two days later. I didn't want to do it, but I'm glad we did. He's staying cool and spending more time being a rambunctious boy and less time brushing the hair from his eyes. I miss it. I miss running my hands through it and tucking it behind his ears and admiring it. But the new cropped 'do has given me free access to planting kisses on the back of his little neck anytime I want. And that's worth it.