"Get a haircut and get a real job!" - George Thorogood
It's one of the oldest cliches and most enduring (in my mind anyway). Long haired, wild youth gets older, grows up and and has to cut that damn hair.
I don't know how wild I was from that time to now and my hair gets shaggy - not long - but I do know, I'm not Thurston Moore, though like him, I do have kids. Kids who have to get their hair cut because the most wonderful lady in their life who decides if the sun should rise or not, "would really like them to look nice and not homeless."
This same most wonderful lady in my life has said the same thing to me several times and my two boys, like me, try as they might to fight it, end up in a barber's or stylist's chair.
When the hair hits the floor and all is said and done, I feel like such a hypocrite and a bit of a sell-out.
Thankfully/Unfortunately, that part of me still exists.
The part that a)wants to fight for follicle freedom and never cut my hair, b)wants to buy only local and never shop at Walmart, and c)wants to drive an imaginary 8-seat SUV that runs on dreams and reverses the greenhouse effect with every mile.
Then again, it's just hair.
It grows impressively fast, serves some basic protective functions, but largely, it's a vanity thing.
I wrestle with this realization each and every time - before, during and after - I or my boys get our "ears lowered."
Then all of a sudden, a warm smile of approval is flashed and like dark magic or sinister science, my memory is erased, my mood is elevated and I find myself muttering "I like it cut short. Remind me of this next time."
Judging from the sudden change in demeanor and the eye roll, I suspect she's heard this before and isn't looking forward to that next time.
I hope I don't pass this on to the kids.
