Sunday, August 24, 2014

Shattered Reflections

"It's too short! He cut way too much off!" His day spiralled downhill faster than his long, grown-out locks fell to the floor in the hair salon.

My Youngest Son has been growing is hair out for months on end. Ever since he decided he was going to be Doctor Who for Halloween.

I finally stopped asking him if he would like to just get a trim to tidy things up as his hair grew. His answer was always no and I could tell he was getting tired of me asking. I casually mentioned he may want to get a trim before school started. Still nothing.

I had mentioned my son's hair goals to my Favorite Hair Stylist. His response and excitement over all-things-hair made me feel confident in recommending him to my son when he was ready to take the plunge.

My Son found out the "Doctor Who" season premier is being aired in select theatres next week. He was pumped. We ran a scavenger hunt through the city a few nights ago, as he found the final touches to complete his costume. He agreed to trust someone to cut his hair in the manner in which he desired.

The appointment was yesterday.

As far as my eyes could see, he walked out of the hair salon looking very dashing and debonair. The 'hair flip' looked 'Doctor Who'ish and I was pretty sure he was happy with the result.

We had an errand to run on our way home and he found a watch which was exactly like the one Doctor Who wears. It was the final touch. I thought we were walking on sunshine as we exited the Real World and walked back in our door at the end of our day.

As soon as we got home, he quickly changed into his Doctor Who costume and persona. Accent and all. He was transformed.

I wanted to take a picture of him striking a Doctor Who pose and I would send a picture of 'the real Doctor Who' along with my own personal 'Doctor Who' with my mom's next letter. So my son went in search of a picture so he could strike a similar Doctor Who pose ...

... and suddenly our world went dark.

My son found the pose he was going to strike and contrasted and compared the look. The accent was gone and my son was back. "It's too short!! I grew my hair out all of these months because the front needed to be that long. And he cut way too much off!!

Then his hair salon experience flashed before his eyes in technicolor clarity. He saw it happen. He replayed it in his mind. Over and over and over again. The moment the stylist took one long sweep of his bangs with a razor. He knew in that moment that it was too short. But what can you say? Put it back??

He was angry. Justifiably so. I could feel his pain. I've been there. There was nothing I could have said to appease him (I tried). There was absolutely nothing I could do (in retrospect, I believe the only thing I could have done for him was to rant and rave and rage at the injustices of hair stylists who Cut First and Ask Questions Later).

Finally, finally I simply said "I'm sorry. I understand. I get it. I truly do. I've been there. But there is absolutely nothing I can say or do to help you..." He said that he simply needed to be angry and he wasn't going to get over it immediately. He had to sit in that place and wallow.

All of his excitement over putting all of this together in time for the season premiere (where him and a friend were planning to attend 'in character' and in full Doctor Who regalia) was dashed in the time it took for that stylist to sheer off his bangs in one fell swoop. His plummet from euphoria, down into the valley of hair destruction was quick and painful and there was simply no going back.

I had plans for the evening and when I came back my son's devastation was defused. It was still palpable but he was going to survive.

Then I went to brush my teeth. I looked in the mirror. I saw the reflection of the New Me in my brand new glasses that will be mine to wear from now until eternity (or until my prescription changes, whichever comes first).

I thought I liked them when I walked out into the world yesterday afternoon. I had picked up my new glasses while my son was getting his hair cut yesterday afternoon. I knew I had severe reservations about them after I purchased them but I had the same feeling the last time. And they worked out okay.

I looked in the mirror last night and I knew in a moment how my son had felt six hours previous.

I walked out. Defeated. I told my son "At least your hair cut only cost $35.00 and it will grow out. I spent over $600.00 and I have to wear these glasses for the next three to five years!"

Oh well. At least from where I look, the world is ever-so-much clearer and defined. I can read small print again. I can read signs at a distance better. My world is crisp and in focus again. I told my son "Oh well, the way I look is other people's problem, not mine! Because from where I sit, I don't have to look at myself."

Our house may lose the two mirrors that it has though. Neither my son nor I are too keen with the reflections looking back at us. And I still think he looks dashing and debonair in his new cut. My son however? He had no comment to appease my shattered reflection.

I think I made a mistake...

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