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Hairy Scary

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“Hey Mom, can you take me to get a haircut?” “A haircut? You think you need a haircut?” “Do you not see this bush growing on top of my head?” (Accompanied by the world-famous teenage eyeball roll.) I admit I might be a bit absent-minded these days, but I’m pretty sure I would notice an actual bush growing out of my son’s head. I tried to imitate the eyeball roll and told him, “You never would have survived the 60’s.” Forty-five minutes and a trip to Great Clips later, he was all smiles as he admired his freshly shorn head. “Oh dude, that feels so much better. I can’t stand it when it gets so long.” Aliens. That’s the only explanation. My son has absolutely gorgeous hair. Thick, shiny, wavy (when it’s longer than a quarter inch) and absolutely unruly. When he was a young babe and before his very first haircut he actually had ringlets. As he grew he wanted it shaved close to his head. He couldn’t bear to take the time to comb it or “deal” with it. I bought one of those clipper things and would take him outside or sit him in the bathtub for a number 3 buzz cut. I figure this has saved me several hundreds of dollars over the years. Recently though he has decided to grow it out. For him, that means number 3 on the sides and maybe a number 4 or 5 on the top. I can’t deal with multiple numbers so now I’m paying for his coif at Great Clips or whatever chop-shop has a coupon. This going against the norm strikes me as odd. Don’t most parents nag their teenage boys to get a hair cut? Maybe if I told him I really like it short and think it looks great, that would immediately make him want to grow it out. Then he would have to spend more time in the morning “dealing” with it. Then we would be late for the bus, then I would have to drive him to school, then I would be mad . . . I guess I should count my blessings and fondly remember when it looked like this: ALex hair2.JPG Alex hair.jpg

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