My daughter has gorgeous hair. It is long and blond and shiny. She exemplifies the notion that long hair can be to a woman’s glory. But she’s been asking me to cut it recently. Well, she’s been asking me to cut it for months. I keep putting her off, telling her that you can always cut hair, but making it long isn’t so easy.
I kept thinking she would change her mind. But she didn’t, so I cut it—like two inches. That didn’t really cut it for her, pardon the expression. So the very next day I cut it again, maybe four inches. I didn’t exactly give her what she wanted, but six inches is noticeable and people made complimentary comments about her ‘short’ hair that fell well below her shoulder blades. I thought the matter was settled.
Nope. So, last night I finally acquiesced. She got her first real haircut. It was rather traumatic for her father and I. And we handled it poorly. My husband introduced himself to her, claiming to not recognize this new girl before him, which upset her. Then I had her bent over to fluff up her coif and Brother walked in and exclaimed her name. My eyes were on my daughter, so I can’t even say if my son was upset or admiring her, but from upside down came by little girl’s voice, ‘You guys are making feel bad for cutting it.’ She lifted her head to reveal red-rimmed eyes.
Oh, the guilt! It was time for us to suck up losing our long-haired beauty and accept with open arms this quickly-growing young lady. We all traipsed back to the big mirror and told her how stunning she is. Poor thing was just feeling encouraged when our puppy shrank from her. No pretending this time; our daughter was not recognized. The fought-off tears won.