Haircut

My second child came over to see me the other day. Whenever my sons call it causes me great joy. When they call in order to set a time to come visit, the joy is increased one million fold. There is usually some reason my boys want to make the short trip home. Maybe they need to retrieve some old router or motor or other obscure piece of technology. Possibly the boys want a decent home cooked meal or a slice of some comforting baked good. Or, by chance, these sons of mine might be desirous of a haircut. 


Haircuts in the kitchen or on the back patio have been a long-standing tradition in the Stephas household. Being a frugal mom, and stubborn and vain, I never saw a reason to take my kids to the run of the mill hair places to get the standard issue coif of the time. I believed I could give a basic cut as well as anyone getting paid the measly rate of twelve dollars per. Arrogant, I know! 


I have cut many people’s hair. This fall I gave lovely cuts to two of my students who did not have the time or wherewithal to have it done by a professional. I have cut the hair of my son’s friends and the hair of my sons. I have cut my husband’s hair for years and have even cut my own hair in times of desperation. In my own addled mind I believe that qualifies me to create some pretty serious stylin’ dos. 


I am going on record right now saying that I like men to have short, short hair. If, by chance, a man wears his hair long it is because he has absolutely fabulous, think, shining locks. That is it. We all have our preferences; the short, short do is mine. So, you can imagine that, over the years, my boys and I have had our disagreements about the do of the day. Both of my sons have a tendency to wear their hair longer than I would like, one son, much longer than I would like. So the call for the haircut visit is a joy seriously-multiplied type of call. 


It was Kevin who called for the haircut visit this time. He worked the cut in with a real aplomb. He took me over to Cosi´ for a nice quiet lunch. He shared some authentic conversation with me. He even stayed to chat after the cut was done. It was rather wonderful sitting in the kitchen gabbing away as his hair dropped all over the chair and the floor and me. 


There was a moment during this cut when I was stricken with an overwhelming sense of love. It was painful. It was a love so deep it hurt. It was a love that was made up of countless haircuts from countless months of the past. It was a love that brought up every haircut argument and every haircut request of the twenty two years of Kevin’s life. It was a love that made me feel as if I were cutting the downy soft hair of my two-year old little Kevbo. It was palpable. As I touched his hair I could feel it in my veins. I was transported. I wanted to grab my baby son and hold him and never let him go. But…I didn’t. I soaked the moment in and said not a word. I held back my tears and continued with my task. 


The simple haircut did not take much time. I trimmed up the sides and clippered around the ears. Kevin checked it in the mirror. He thought it looked fine. We cleaned up the kitchen, continued our conversation for a few minutes, and then it was time for him to go. I was stalwart and stoic. I did not so much as mention my feelings of love. I hugged him goodbye and let him walk away. He felt it though. I know he did. It is just too scary to discuss. So, we let it go. 


I will never forget that moment. Even in the midst of my medically induced stupor of late, I will remember it. It is tattooed on my heart and written on my soul. What a gift! Thankfully, hair grows. I can’t wait for next month. And now I know why I like the boys’ hair so short! Ah, it’s just a haircut.