January 14, 2011
More than anything else in the world, my seven year-old son wants to grow his hair down to his shoulders, or maybe his knee caps if he gets really ambitious.
"That sounds delicious," I said.
"All the boys in my class have long hair," he told me.
The next day I bought a pack of pastel-colored hair clips at the dollar store and left them on his bed.
My gift was not well received.
The length of all of his friends' hair has been a recurring topic of conversation in our household for several weeks. I thought my son was exaggerating until he came home from school today with his class picture.
Sure enough, he is the only person in the photograph who doesn't look like Samson.
"I TOLD YOU!" he seethed.
I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm not a fan of guys with long hair," I said firmly.
My son laughed like a hyena who had just caught its prey.
"Then you don't like Jesus," he sneered with satisfaction.
I tried to defend myself, but in the end was forced to admit that I would be more likely to put a picture of Jesus on my wall if He had a crew cut.
"I'm cutting your hair this weekend," I told him. "End of story."
Tonight Cortlen ate his dinner like it was the Last Supper.
"This is the last time you will see me with hair this long," he said mournfully to his siblings.
Everyone bowed their head for a moment of silence before I plugged in the hair clippers.