“I would just like to say that it is my conviction/That longer hair and other flamboyant affectations/Of appearance are nothing more/Than the male’s emergence from his drab camouflage/Into the gaudy plumage/Which is the birthright of his sex./There is a peculiar notion that elegant plumage/And fine feathers are not proper for the man/When actually/That is the way things are/In most species.” –“My Conviction,” Hair
At the end of August (the month, that is, not our son), Oscar and Edgar are going to make their annual late-summer pilgrimage to Snip-Its for their “back-to-school” haircuts. Much discussion of late has centered on the luxurious curls and substantial length of our beautiful near-fourteen-month-old’s mane. We didn’t even need to consider haircuts for Oscar and Edgar until they were two years old, but August’s hair is a different story altogether.
It has been suggested that when we take Oscar and Edgar in for theirs, we should let August take the chair for the first time. Granted, his hair is long enough that–if he were a girl–we would be breaking out an arsenal of clips and barrettes and headbands.
But he’s not. He’s a boy. And it seems the only option is a haircut.
But it just seems so soon . . .