Ponytail No More

A long time ago, my boy began growing out his hair. He had spent his elementary years and the first few years of middle school in private schools where the hair was kept short. In the eighth grade, he branched out into the public school system and a style of his own. While my opinion of public school might be a mixed bag, my opinion of his style never wavered.

He definitely had a style of his own, and his style was all about hair.

It grew longer.
Covered one eye.
Eventually hid both eyes.

Surpassed his chin.
Touched his shoulders.
Went down his back.

He marked his last hair cut (a minor trim, I might add) around February 2010, I think. I do believe he knows the exact date. A week ago, I had just come home from an out-of-town trip when he made the following announcement,

Mom, I'm ready to cut my hair.

Now, I handled this staggering statement rather well. I didn't cry. I didn't jump up to hug him. I just sat stunned. And probably as only a mother can know, it really had nothing to do with the hair. His hair had been something of a battle in the early years... we wanted it short; he did not. We (as in his dad and me) came to realize that his long hair was something that he needed. Something that defined who he was. He was never one to blend in.

Anyway, at that moment I looked at the man he is becoming.

Ready to make a change.
Ready to make a statement.
Ready to move forward.

That's my boy.