“Oh my goodness!” the mother lamented as she listened to her adult children share their feelings about the home-style haircuts she had so carefully given them when they were young. Her memories reran to about 35 years earlier when the busyness of life precluded even the thought of taking the children for a professional haircut. Who did that anyway? A stool, a towel, and a pair of scissors were all the tools she needed to keep the hair out of their eyes.
“Mom, be careful! Don’t cut my ear!” Her five year old son sat on the counter, feet in the sink, while Mother carefully snipped away at his wispy blonde hair. A modified bowl cut, without the bowl, was the overall shape of his unique style. He sat very still so she could cut his hair evenly, making the lengths match on both sides. Trimming around the ears was a bit tricky; to date she had missed nicking him, yet for some reason he liked to remind her to take care. Her track record had been perfect, so far . . .
“Ouch! You cut me!” “Oh my goodness! I am so sorry! Let me look.” As she swept his hair away from his left ear (or was it the right?), there in plain view was a tiny little cut. No doubt about it. Though hardly a speck of blood was showing, “Mom cut my ear!” would be a tale of woe she would not soon live down. She always thought this boy’s hair was adorable, the straight silky blonde tresses a little longer, but still well above the collar-line.
“Yes, Mom . . . so speaking of bowl cuts, what about those bangs you gave me?” her daughter chimed in. “They were kind of like a bowl cut, too, from ear to ear.” “But they kept your hair out of your face!” “But, Mom! Those bangs were horrible!” Never had their mother considered these children had ever commiserated about their haircuts, let alone not liked them! Only now as adults did she hear their commentary. Had they voiced objections back then that she overruled in her efforts to just get things done? She hoped she had not been so insensitive as to have not listened.
Taking notice that from an early preschool age her grandchildren had been given many choices in their coiffures (one young child proudly donating to Locks of Love) she wondered when she began allowing her young ones to make those decisions? Certainly no harm had been done subjecting them to those darling home cuts! Or had they been teased by their peers, felt embarrassment in some way? She didn’t remember them ever voicing being humiliated by their hair. It was heartbreaking to think any of her actions, done in best faith towards her children, might have caused them unnecessary pain.
Such a seemingly insignificant subject, haircuts. Yet who knows the potential that can be wielded with a pair of scissors? Just a nick to one’s armor, a chagrin to one’s confidence, or a snip, snip, snip to something new and beautiful. One never knows til the process begins, and the results are born. After all, it’s all in the cut.