Hair (Un)Cut

This post could also be titled, "Why It's NOT About Me, the MOM," or "One More Reason I Know My Husband Is Brilliant,"---more on those topics, later.

EJ has never had a haircut. There, I said it. That probably puts me into some category of freak parent---the kind that covets the little darling's locks and can't bare to part with them. Maybe Kate Hudson has formed a support group for folks like us.

The truth is, I love a good haircut, especially on a cute kid, but EJ has never needed one. That's right, she has never, ever needed one---her hair has never been in her eyes in a troubling way, it has not gotten in the way of her activities, etc. At every stage, from birth onward, her hair has basically managed itself. Don't believe me? I can provide photographic evidence.












Sure, we've needed a pin or ponytail holder here or there, and of course, we have had a rare detangling session that left both of us grouchy, but on average this kid's hair has been the easiest thing in the universe to manage. Add to this fact the understanding that EJ has been terrified of loud noises since she was little, and as such, would run screaming from a hair dryer, and you'll see why a hair salon was not high on our "fun outings" list. Finally, she got it into her head, probably some time around the time she learned how (and how not) to use scissors, that getting a hair cut would hurt. For at least two years, there was simply no convincing her otherwise.

She's no little kid anymore, though, and over time, her fears have abated. She likes it, on occasion, when I blow dry her hair on the low setting, and she is now perfectly clear, thanks to testimonies from her peers, that haircutting does not hurt at all. She has been toying with the idea of getting her hair cut for a few months, saying, "Mom, maybe we could just trim it, okay?" She shocked me, though, yesterday, when she declared before school:

"Mom, I want to get my hair cut. Short. Like my friend's hair. It is really what I want."

I was nearly knocked over. At first I was proud of her for being so bold, but then, I started to panic. I realized just how attached to her hair I had become. As it has grown longer and she has grown more willing to cut it...well, I'll just admit it, I've grown to really love it. I can't imagine her without it. The problem: IT'S NOT MY HAIR.

I told her that it was fine, but we needed to wait until after her ballet recital, because I need to be able to put it up in a ballet bun.

"Okay, we can cut it the next day."

I gulped, then explained to her that if it is really short, it might not be able to go into a ponytail. She looked a little disappointed, then showed me how she could just pull the front sides up into a ponytail, and that would be fine. I explained how it might not be curly anymore---something she cried about at an earlier age when she overheard an adult say that they'd lost all their curls when they grew up and cut their hair. Her response:

"I've wanted it straight for a long time. It will be fine."

Double-gulp. I sent her to school and selfishly hoped she'd forget, but she brought it up again on the car ride to music class. Sigh.

Later last night, when all three of us were home and playing a board game together, I mentioned to Mike that EJ had said she wanted to cut her hair. SHORT. If my glare at him could have spoken, it would have said, "SHORT, MICHAEL, PLEASE, PLEASE, FIX THIS, I'M LOSING IT HERE."

He was smart. HE ASKED HER WHY.

Here is what she said.

"Well, I want to cut it off to give it someone, like a kid with no hair. My teacher did that. I would like to do that, too."

I'm tearing up just typing that. In that instant all my vanity about her hair just flew out of my body and I hugged her and thought, thank you, once again, for making me show up and realize what is really important in this world, kiddo. We told her we thought it was a great idea, and that she might need to grow it a little longer before she could cut it off, but we would find a place to get that done. She was delighted.

She can't have this long hair forever, of course, and the idea that another precious child who is sick could get to wear one of the most gorgeous heads of brunette hair I've ever seen makes me happier than just about anything else I can imagine.

My job is to learn, each day, to let her go, just like her job is to learn, each day, to make her own choices. My job is to grow her character, not her hair. So if letting go of that hair is her choice to learn about generosity, how can I be anything but thrilled?