A few weeks back we cut JT’s hair for the first time. It felt like we were saying goodbye to our baby. We hadn’t really cut his hair since he was born: 2 years and 10 months ago. It was a decision we’d been putting off. Well, actually I’d been putting off. He’s been wearing his hair pretty long now for the last year. Occasionally my mother-in-law would trim his bangs but I don’t really consider that a hair cut. 

 

About a month ago I thought I had made up my mind. I took JT into a local shop and told the Lady-with-the-Scissors that this was his first hair cut. “We want to cut it short…er,” I said. “What should we do?” Before she could respond I blurted out, “…I was thinking that maybe we might feather it,” a stumbling reference from my youth, brought on by the stress and trauma of the moment.

 

Like a general taking command of a new and scared recruit her voice cut through the noise of clippers and shears. “No, I don’t think you want to layer it,” she corrected. “His hair is really to thin and it won’t really stay”

 

“Ok,” I said. “How about something that can go over his ears, can show his eyes but is still kind of long in back and on top?”

 

“We could do that,” she said, slowly and calmly as if she were trying to gain my confidence; not unlike the way a police officer talks to someone standing on the ledge of an office building. “My husband used to wear it like that. It used to be popular. It was called a Mullet.”

 

It a state of speechless horror I all but jumped at the Lady-with-the-Scissors. “No, not that,” I stammered.  But what I was really thinking was, “Please, dear God no!”  

 

I had suffered through my own mullet stage back in the day. I’ve been there and I didn’t want JT to go through what I’d gone through. I’m his Dad. That’s my job. Only later did I realize that the Lady-with-the-Scissors had used the “M” word for my own good. It was a kind of “scared straight” moment.

 

Taking matters into her own hands (literally), the Lady-with-the-Scissors took up about two inches of JT’s hair in between the finders of her open hand and asked, “How this?” Still a bit shaky I said, “That’s fine.” She started to cut. When she finished I paid and then JT and I walked back to the car. His hair was still wet as we drove home. By the time we got to the house it was mostly dry. 

 

That’s when I noticed. JT’s hair hadn’t really changed. His bangs were out of his eyes and the back had been trimmed a little but for all practical purposes it was the same.  I had been prepared for a dramatic change that didn’t come. I felt and odd sense of relief. There was another feeling there but all I was paying attention to was the relief. 

 

I think the Lady-with-the-Scissors saw it on my face. I was not ready for, the first haircut. Maybe it was some secret Stylist's Code of Ethics like, First, do no harm.  (No, it couldn’t be that. I’ve lived with some really bad haircuts.) Whatever the reason, the Lady-with-the-Scissors would not be the one to give JT his first hair cut. It seemed she was not going to be held responsible for my indecision. Yes, she took my money but she wasn’t going to be held responsible.

 

Mami was the only one who noticed that something had happened to JT’s hair. No one else did. I began to feel a sense of disappointment sink in. I might not have been ready for the first haircut but I had still been expecting something to happen. 

 

A few weeks ago we decided to try again. The bangs had grown in and the “Buster Brown” look had gone far enough. Mami showed some reluctance as she Googled, little boy hair cuts. Most of the choices she made seemed to be longer cuts. Q was due for a haircut too and so I loaded both boys into the van. 

 

Before we left, Mami and I asked JT if he wanted his hair cut short like his brother's. He said no. I asked if he wanted it short like mine. With a smile he said, “Yes, like Papi.” The boys and I left . Mami stayed home.

 

I took the boys to the barber shop where I cut my hair. There were other people there so we sat and waited our turn. When the barber called us up I sent Q first so that JT would get the idea. I asked for Q’s usual short cut. 

 

Q does pretty well as the baber's but after about ten minutes the ants start invading his pants. He’s a good sport though. When he was done JT climbed onto the chair with no problems. The barber asked if I wanted JT’s hair cut short too. With a deep sigh I said, “Yes.” 

 

I also told him that that Mami had asked for a braid of JT’s hair. He looked at me, confused. Luckily there was a woman barber there (a barbarette?).  She seemed to understand the sentiment and took the lead. They made two small braids of JT’s hair and snip it was done.  He finished styling JT's hair and soon we were headed home.

 

The barber did a nice job. Firm but not mean. As a boy I remember our neighborhood barber scolding us if we moved too much. He’d say, “If you keep moving I’m going to cut your ear off.” I think this was a better experience for JT.

 

I can still see Mami’s face when we got home. “Oh, my God,” Mami yelled. She smiled wide eyed and red faced. There were a few tears in her eyes, I’m sure. 

 

JT looks like a different boy; until he starts talking. Then he’s the same precocious two-year old. He looks good. When he first saw himself in the mirror it took him just a moment before he smiled and rubbed his head. He did great. For me it’s been a little tougher. I think saying goodbye to JT’s baby hair was like saying goodbye to the baby. 

 

I said I had felt something beside an odd sense of relief on the day the Lady-with-the Scissors almost cut JT’s hair. The truth is that what I felt was resignation; resignation because of a sense of realization that it was time. 

 

Yes, I had been relieved at the moment because I got a little more time with my baby boy, but I also new that my baby had already become a toddler. Again, I might not have felt ready but I had still expected it. 

 

I don’t know if I’ll ever find myself ready to let go of my baby; my toddler; my preteen; my teen (well, we’ll see about the teen) but I do want to celebrate and truly experience every stage that my boys go through. And to do that they have to move forward.  Maybe my newest daddy mantra will be, “I might not feel ready but I’ll still expect it,” because ready or not hear it comes.