I struggle with my hair. I really do. Every morning, I would get up, see my hair was a horrible bed-head wreck, and sigh. It took a lot of hair gel to tie my hair down. (The problem was, I move around quite a bit my sleep. You would not believe how odd my hair would look. It was almost like I was putting it that way for a reason.) Finally, about a year ago, I figured out that a morning shower would put my head in a much more manageable state. There is also a conflict in interests. I love, love, longer hair. My mom hates it. I can’t count how many arguments we’ve gotten into over that subject. She has always won. Her main point of argument is, I don’t really bother to actually fix my hair. Oh well. She totally has me there. In the 6th grade, she finally let me grow my hair out. Train-WRECK. Problem was, I hadn’t grown my hair out then for looks. I had a huge mole on the side of my head. It was incredibly dark, noticeable, and embarrassing. As long as it was covered up, I didn’t care. Mom did. My hair was returned to its pitifully short state. I did eventually get the mole removed. It was possibly cancerous, so bye bye, evil mole. Except not enough was removed the first time, so I had to go back. It was horrible. But, that is over now. However, I still want long hair.
I am now quite a bit more responsible. I am sure that I can handle the incredible responsibly of long hair now. My mom still doesn’t trust me, however. I think that she takes her kids as direct reflections of herself. Sometimes, when we are having our bi-monthly argument over hair, I ask her, “If you like short hair so much, then why don’t you shave your own head?” That usually signals the end of the argument. Even though the comment is a blatant stab at disrespect, I feel that it is also a very valid point. Apparently she does too, because then she either says, “We’ve gone over this before,” “Go upstairs,” or ”Do you want me to completely shave your head with Clark’s butt clipppers?” (Those are the clippers she uses to trim the hair on my dog’s butt when it gets too long.) I use the “Shave your own head” comment when it is obvious there’s no chance of me winning the argument. It causes a sort of tie between us.
I said before that Mom sees her kids as direct reflections of herself. Not just reflections of her parenting, but as reflections of her very soul. Mom sees long hair as very untidy, messy, disorderly, and possibly the sign of a drug dealer. Maybe. Short hair, however, shows class, order, and the sign of the pinnacle of humanity. And yet, she can talk about how “cute” she thinks Zac Efron is without batting an eyelash!! How can one human conceal that much burning hypocrisy?! Her final point is, “You look so much cuter with short hair.” HOW WOULD SHE KNOW THAT!? I HAVE NEVER, EVER HAD LONG HAIR!!!!!
Mom tries to tell me about how cute and neat I look with short hair, and how I would just look like some middle school kid. Uh, I would rather look like a middle schooler than an Air Force graduate. I said before that I hate my hair. Let me correct myself. I hate my hair short. When your hair is short, there is just so little you can do with it. Long hair for guys really only has one style, unless you’re interested in putting it in a ponytail. Do you have any idea how simple it would be to just wash and brush my hair in the morning instead of having to mess around with hair gel? I love my hair color just fine. I really would like to see it longer. And if I hated it, I would get it all cut off and never complain about the length again. Something that really bothered me, however, is that this summer, when my brother asked to grow his hair out, he immediately got a yes! He didn’t need years of petitioning, just his title of Best Boy. His hair was worse than mine, yet he still has it long. Bryan’s hair is very stiff. He had an afro. An afro composed of the finest, softest (to the touch, that is), goldenest hair imaginable. Stupid Best Boy. When school started again, he had to start fixing his hair. He just gelled it all down and to the side, making a comb-over. Yet, his hair is still quite long. I just burn with the injustice of it all.
At this point, I really have no idea how to get the prize I have yearned for for so long. Debates, arguments, and being a good little boy hasn’t worked. I have been flawless-ish in my behavior all of my life, but that has gotten me nowhere. I don’t know what to do. I would rather not “act out,” so that’s off the list. The only thing I can do is chain myself to the fridge every time we go get hair cuts. *Sigh* If you get any ideas for swaying my mom’s opinion, leave them in the comments box. Until then, I will be sadly staring at my reflection in the mirror. Bye.
