Richie is our strong-willed child. Some people raise their eyebrows at parents who label their children with these self-fulfilling prophecies, saying that you leave the child no room to be anything else if you’ve already boxed him.
If I told Richie he wasn’t strong-willed he’d box me, I promise you that.
Richie’s hair is a case in point. He has a rust-tinted mane which harks back to Sean’s Irish roots – and a flaming temper to match. And he seems to believe that like Samson, his power will be stripped if his hair were to be cut.
Richie screams the house down if mention is made within his earshot of a haircut. When Richie was about 18 months old, he was beginning to show signs of human rationality so I thought it might be nice to take him to one of those fancy-shmancy kids’ hair salons for a haircut. By which I obviously mean, I thought it might be nice to see if a professional could achieve what I couldn’t: get near his head with a pair of scissors without sparking World War Three.
Those places I speak of charge you, pro rata per actual single hair that is cut, more than the salon I frequent ever since I turned an age where I had to become slightly “grown up” with my own hair, to try to mask the ravages of time. Those places put your kid inside an aeroplane, prop a DVD in front of them, distract them with a toy and then charge you like they just sent your child on a real overseas trip.
Contractual obligations suggest you might like to read the rest of this post where it was originally published, over at my friends from A.C. Kermans: http://www.mybalancingact.co.za/hair-today-gone-tomorrow