About every six months or so, I cut my son’s hair. Besides the practicality of needing to do so, it is also a method by which I mark time and his passage through boy-hood.
Paul has beautiful dark brown hair, and when it’s needing a cut, it is silky soft with practically perfect ringlets. His father did have perfect ringlets, but Paul’s are a bit more relaxed. At the point in which they need to be cut, Paul’s hair feathers out from his ears and stands up on the back and top of his head. I always hate to cut it because it is so cute, and makes him look absolutely adorable.
January and late June or July are Paul’s cut dates and I did do the chop two weekends ago. After the cut, he looks more adorable, less adorable, younger, and older – all at the same time! This June’s cut marked him at 3 1/4 years old, and now I watch him grow, easily imagining him as a teenager with his hair short.
Today he’s in the yard singing the ABC’s as he rides his bike, putting his helmet on and taking it off himself, and periodically coming up to the porch for the chicken and strawberries we are having for dinner. For me, this latest haircut represents his passage away from being a toddler and into being a little boy. He’s become much more verbal and coordinated though still clumsy, which I don’t think he will out-grow. It also marks a time in my own life of figuring out how to be a single working parent with full custody and no visitations. I soak him in every second that I can.
Last January’s cut represented other things, such as Paul still developing his language skills and me trying to figure out how to co-parent with my ex. Last July will always stand out with my sudden singleness and having to do things by myself that had previously been tasks of the husband, such as cutting my son’s hair. For Paul, it was learning to control himself and developing the skill to listen to instructions.
Whenever I look back through pictures of Paul’s 3 years, one thing that always pops out to me is his hair cut, marking his growth and the chapters of my own life.