As a parent, one of my main jobs is to make sure my children, all of them, look respectable. This means sometimes checking them before we leave the house and making sure their clothes are clean, their faces are washed. The sort of things everyone does everyday without even thinking. People do it because they need to do it.
Some days are easier than others. Sometimes the Miracles of Christ get in the car looking respectable and ready to go. Other times I ask if they even looked in the mirror at all in the morning. They look at me with that stare, trying to understand exactly what it is I’m talking about. They look fine (they don’t look fine). They’re ready to go to school. Dad, you worry too much.
The boy has let his hair grow for a while now and it looks… well, he could use a trim. I could also use a trim. It’s been a while since either of us has seen a barber. It bothers me more than it bothers him and it bothers me enough for the both of us.
I would like to see a barber but, like a lot of people, I’m not sure about the ‘Rona. I’m hearing a lot about the vaccines and I really hope there’s light at the end of this long tunnel. I’m ready to leave the house again without a mask and talking to people through glass like it’s visiting hours at the state penitentiary. I’m looking forward to sitting in a chair and telling the barber what I want without saying, “What?” because I can’t hear the nice person through their mask. It’s also nice to have a mask-less conversation.
We have dealt with this by the Wife setting up a makeshift barber shop in the bathroom. She does this when she gets the chance and cleans up the people in the house who would like it. The Boy turns down this service and his hair gets longer and longer. I have tried suggesting a “Boy’s Day” where we go out and get haircuts. I’m not saying he needs to get it cut short. I just don’t want him looking like he was auditioning for “Lord of the Flies”. I’m willing to ignore my apprehension towards the ‘Rona and sit in a chair and deal with someone talking through a mask. The Boy is not interested. I remind him police officers need to get their hair cut. I suggest matching haircuts. We get both get the “High and Tight” look. We can look like police officers. The Boy has since told me he no longer wants to be a policeman if he has to lose his long hair.
Another day passes with long hair that falls in front of his eyes. I will continue to try to help him so that he can at least see where he’s going. In the meantime, I can at least hope the hair gives enough padding for his face if he walks into something.