I’ve waited 25 Years for this.

I’ve wanted one for 25 years, and now I have one.

A Mohawk.

(Wow, this is going to take some explaining.)

I should start by saying that to me, hair is just, uh, hair. You wash it, you comb it, you cut it, repeat. I have particularly thick hair that grows rapidly. I’ve never had a bad haircut for more than a week or two; it simply grows out too quickly.

Throughout my life I’ve had many notable “hair adventures”. There was the time Susan and I dyed it blue in honor of Best Buy (I was an employee at the time and I wanted my hair to match my shirt.) There was the time I had it colored “nuclear orange” while living in Spokane. There was the year or two I shaved the back and the sides, leaving the top long (the infamous “top knot” style). There was the time, in grade school, that I had it frosted. After Footloose came out, I even had a spike (which was a MUCH bigger deal back then than it is now.) The point is, I’ve abused my hair follicles many many times over the years. Each time, within a few weeks, whatever I had done to it was ancient history and my thick black hair had returned for more punishment.

I’m not exactly sure what happened, but last night Susan took Mason to get a haircut and came home with a bald five-year-old boy. From what I gathered, there may have been a small “English to Espanol” translation problems that complicated the situation. Personally it didn’t look that shocking to me. I grew up in a neighborhood where many of the boys got their heads buzzed at the beginning of summer (a seasonal ritual I somehow managed to escape). Mason didn’t seem to be particularly upset about the hack job. I told him he looked like “the army guys in my videogames” and he seemed okay with that. Susan, on the other hand, was much more upset over the whole situation. She was worried that Mason might get teased at school over his new ultra-short do. So, I decided to take one for the team.

I told Mason I’d get a haircut that looked just like his. Of course I had no intention of spending $9 + tax to get my head shaved; I knew Susan could do the dirty work with a pair of clippers in five minutes. The execution was carried out quickly in our kitchen. When Susan began, I suggested it might be funny for her to “leave a Mohawk” for a few minutes.

(Note to all married men — as it is with Jesus, so it is with wives. “It is easier to receive forgiveness than permission.” There’s no way (NO WAY) Susan would EVER let me get a Mohawk if she thought I was going to keep it for more than five minutes. I’d put the odds of permission at 0% and the odds of forgiveness somewhere around 3.2%. It’s still better odds, but not much.)

Once I had what I wanted, a quick round of cat-and-mouse ensued (my hair being the mouse, Susan’s clippers being the cat). The mouse has escaped for the time being, for the time being, but I doubt it’ll survive the weekend. I have to sleep sometime …