If I get my kid a hair cut or not, it’s none of your gads dang beeswax.
Owen hasn’t had a buzz cut since he was 5 years old. He’s 9 now. He likes his hair a long short. It’s short, but it lays a good 5 inches from his scalp. He just likes it kind of moppy.
Every since the haystack hair of preschool days started bothering him, he wears it longer vs. shorter.
Who cares? Right?
Except every dang blessed person needs to point this out to him. Stop already.
First there’s the grandparents. “Well hey son, your hair is getting kinda long there, when are you going to get a hair cut? I can barely see your eyes.
Then Owen will make a tear filled plea, “I wish kids at school would stop talking about my hair”, he’ll cry.
“Why do they talk about your hair?”, I ask.
“They say I look like a girl!”, he’ll cry.
Huh? Ya look like a boy to me kid. What, with your sports jersey, high tops and all that fart talk! So I tell him to never mind and it will all be okay, like any mom does, right?
Then there’s the discussion about his weight-
Did I mention Owen is skinny? He is. His dad is really skinny. Always has been. I mean, like lanky lean Russell Brand skinny. But without the cocaine addiction and long hair.
Owen will grow up to be just like his dad I’m sure. A blond version of his dad. Healthy, tall, lean, a good runner, great at soccer, super coordination, good balance. Yeah, but what do people talk about- how skinny he is.
Thanks people. You know what that does to him? It makes him feel like he’s not good enough being just who he is. It makes him feel like he needs to change to conform to some other ‘normal’ that people seem to picture him in.
How many times I have to give him the pep talk because he’s standing on the scale wondering when he’ll gain 5 pounds. Sure, lots of kids at school are chubby. Do we talk about the chubby kids? No. That would be mean. But telling my kid he needs to eat a cheeseburger because he’s like a bean pole, is okay? No. It’s not.
Yes- this is my son we are talking about. Not my daughter. My daughter who is 12 and you would think would be obsessing over her body, isn’t like this. She’s petite as well but I think she’s learning to appreciate her size, thank God!
Owen is only 9. He’s still getting there.
I tell him, when he stands on the bathroom scale and asks me if he can have a steak so he’ll gain some weight, “Owen, do you know how great it is that you are so lean and light? You know when you do a breakaway in soccer and you run with that ball like the wind? Remember that. That is what you are made for. Not how you look, not how big your muscles are, or a number on the scale. You just keep being you.”
And then he sighs and says, “okay, can I have ice cream?” Yes, son, after your dinner.
Remember what you say to a child. Even a child that is not your own. The words you say to them stay in their little minds and create a truth, a reality that might not be necessary for them to even know or hear. I remember everything said to me growing up about how I looked. And it’s still etched in my brain looking at my 40 year old self. The good and the bad.
This isn’t a, Woe is Me My son Is So Sensitive, post. It’s a, Think of the Words You Choose Towards Children post.