Cutting His Own Hair

The Calvesgrit had an appointment at 6:00 to get haircuts.

I had just come home from work — still had my car keys in hand and my backpack [read: “briefcase”] over my shoulder. Cowgrit and Calfgrit8 were sitting at the kitchen table working on CG8’s homework. Calfgrit4 marched into the kitchen and announced, “I just cut my hair.”

Now, let me take you back to when my brother and I were around 8 and 4 years old:

We were sitting on the curb in front of our apartment building with a pair of scissors. We both had straight hair, long all around, down to our eyebrows and over our ears — think Davy Jones from The Monkees, (or maybe Moe from The Three Stooges with it long around the ears). I don’t remember what I was thinking at the time, but I took the scissors and cut an inch-and-a-half-wide lock of hair right off the middle of both our foreheads.

I only vaguely remember that event, but our mom has a school picture of each of us with that missing lock of hair. It was obvious, and I can imagine her embarrassment with having to live with our hair like that until it grew out.

Back to this week:

So you know the thought that immediately ran through my head at CG4’s words, “I just cut my hair.” A little touch of “oh no!” tingled up and down my spine.

Turns out all he did was wet his hair with the spray bottle we have in the boys’ bathroom for fixing morning bed head, and combed it. Pshew.

Even so, I can hear my mom laughing anyway.

Bullgrit