Dynamite Scissorhands

Last June, while under my ever-so-watchful eye, my four-year old niece seized a pair of plastic kid scissors and lopped off her hair.

Actually, she didn't just lop it off. For all intents and purposes, she scalped herself.

She hacked away at her entire forelock area (do people have forelocks?) - a remarkable feat considering the "safety" tool she used - and rendered herself hairless, or hair-challenged, just days before our entire family headed to the scenic sands of Nantucket Island whereupon a professional photographer would memorialize everyone's hairdo for all of eternity.

I was deathly afraid of breaking the news to my sister, Dr. No.

You see, six months before, my niece had pulled a similar stunt. After visiting the beauty parlor and getting her shiny golden locks trimmed into an adorable shoulder-length bob, she received lots of attention from just about everyone. At the time, she must have thought to herself: Hmmm. Haircuts = attention. I think it's time for another haircut.

Then, under the ever-so-watchful eye of her father, she found some scissors and chopped off one side of her hair at an unusual angle at about the level of her ear canal. The resulting bi-level "look" would not even have made it in an eighties punk band.

Feeling absolutely mortified and concerned about their failings as parents, my sister and her husband took my niece back to the beauty parlor where she received yet another cut - a hip and stylish piecy look. Many calm, educational conversations about playing with scissors (and probably running with them, too, I imagine) and cutting our own hair ensued, and so by the time my niece arrived in Connecticut last June her hair was well on its way to growing back.

And that was the problem.

Her bangs were long and bothersome, so she took matters into her own hands. (Brilliantly, if you ask me.)

Still...how to tell Dr. No, who I knew would be deeply disturbed?

I had to think fast, and I thought I might be able to diffuse the situation with a little humor.

So called Dr. No at work in her busy busy practice and said, "Um, ah, hey there! I just sent you an email!" and she grumbled and huffed about being busy and wrestling pint-size patients in order to take throat cultures and said she'd get to it when she got to it.

Then she got to it...

and wow. She didn't laugh at all.

No, I definitely do not recall one squeak of laughter when my dear sister opened her email and saw my attempt to make light of what she saw as a dire and disturbing situation.

Let me tell you, she breathed fire into the phone that day, and man was I singed.

Until now.

Like Socrates once said, time passes and hair grows. (I'm certain Socrates is responsible for that bit of wisdom.)

Now, months of hair growth later, Dr. No and her husband are both laughing at the hijinky shenanigans of their adorable, spirited child - the imp with the twinkling Irish eyes and a personality that's larger than life.

I think they realized that sometimes kids do wacky things simply because they're kids. And it's not necessarily a reflection on their parents (and, say, relatives who might be watching them) when they do.

To my great delight, my sister's holiday greeting card this year features my niece's "Home Alone" face photo with the caption, "Oh no! Does cutting off your own hair place you on Santa's naughty list?"

Brilliant - just like my niece.

Now...how to deliver to my sister the zip-locked bag of hair I've been saving since June? Think she'll laugh?

[This post also appears at  Ruthless in the Suburbs.]

Comments

[margaret]

Ugghh. Moe was into cutting her hair this summer. Mainly because we were trying to grow her bangs out and they bothered her. I think they would find humor in the bag of hair, especially if they are using that as their Christmas cards.