One of the favorite things about my boys is their hair.
I’ve been known to be slightly obsessed with it.
From the beginning, I wanted to give them a sense of individuality. So while all of my friend’s boys were all rocking military haircuts, fades, shaved heads etc. my boys had long hair. Never all at once. Sometimes, only one would have long hair. Maybe two at a time. But all four of them have had long hair at some point in their young lives.
And it’s understandable because their long hair is glorious. All thick, brown waves. Except for my oldest son, who has perfect ombre ringlets.
It’s kind of disgusting, actually.
I’m just jealous.
Anyhow, my son Sol was growing out his hair because he wanted it to look like his favorite professional street skater, Paul Rodriguez. Somewhere along the line, he also had aspirations for dreadlocks. We’re a reggae-loving family, so I was cool with all of it. My husband had dreadlocks for a short time and we always talked about one of our kids having them someday. Sol’s hair is curly and so is mine, so I’ve done my best to teach my boys how to manage their curls. But not Sol. He completely gave up on taking care of his hair. It had become a rat’s nest.
Nevermind that I could see the girls visibly swoon whenever he passed them on his skateboard. Sweaty, stinky, hair in his eyes, wearing jeans he wore for Lord knows how many days. I know the feeling of swooning over a skater boy. I married his father and he was exactly the same way.
Much to my chagrin, he was beginning to take on the persona of a punk kid whose parents didn’t take care of him. It bothered me because obviously, this is not how we’ve raised him. Along with his holey shoes (skating can eat up a good pair of shoes in less than a month), his faded band tees and that hair, he was beginning to look homeless.
This really bothered me.
I could see that my free-spirited, Bob Marley-loving, creative son needed a change. Michael was finally over it and made the decree.
That’s it. You’re getting a haircut next week.
A couple of months ago, this would have devastated me. Not my baby’s curls. But I knew in my heart it was time for a change.
|I love my boy — he is beautiful inside and out.|
|And he had a beautiful head of hair, too.|
|But when you tried to lift up a curl, it was matted and knotted up. Dear Lord baby Jesus.|
I called one of my girlfriends who has done my hair for years so she could do the honors.
|She had to cut the dreads off first.|
After some discussion, we came to a style solution. Sol didn’t want a regular old dude hairstyle so we tried something new. Still somewhat long, but totally more manageable.
The big reveal…
|Suddenly he’s shy.|
|Long enough for a “man bun”. Yes, I said man bun.|
|For reals. A man bun. It’s a thing now.|
|I’ve been crazy in love with this face for the past fourteen years.|
He’s happy with his haircut (although it took him a couple days to master the man bun). My head feels so naked right now, he kept saying as he stroked his head.
I’m happy with his haircut. Now I don’t have to constantly nag him about keeping his hair clean. My husband isn’t as pleased, so I’m thinking another big chop is coming soon. I’m okay with that.
As long as he looks slightly less like a juvenile delinquent, which he does.
Teenagers, you’ve got to love them.
No, seriously. Loving them is the only way any of us are going to make it through this stage of our lives. And that’s the truth.