Thursday morning, the two littlest boys and I took Daddy to the airport, then returned to our town. The library was open by then and we had books on hold, as always. When we stepped inside, a large, loud crowd of children stood in the lobby. I wondered at the commotion until I recognized the kids as the first graders from our school. My John was among them. I gave him a hug and eventually went home. When I picked the kids up from school, something was curious. It took me a minute to place it, John looked different.
"John. Did you cut your hair?" I asked. "It was bugging me," was the reply. "Oh," was all I could muster. I was stunned. Never in all eleven years of having children has anyone cut their own hair. He cut it in class with the scissors from his desk and just let it fall to the floor. No one said a word.
He hacked his bangs and took a chunk out of the back. Apparently, he's done the back before. I just thought I had given a really bad hair cut. I am a little glad to learn it was his handy work, not mine.
He hates hair cuts because they take too long. I felt like telling him to get in line with his dad and little brothers, but I refrained by reminding him that holding still helps it go faster.
He got a buzz cut for his efforts. Now it's all even. His brothers received cuts as well...
and insisted on having their pictures taken as well.
Daddy would have shaved him bald.
No comments:
Post a Comment