It's All About The Hair

When my son became a teenager, I wondered if he'd ever rebel. I mean, that's what teenagers do, right? But I'm lucky with him. I don't think he'll ever rebel.

Unless his hair is his rebellion.

You see, I prefer it short. And, you know, neat.


But Tommy has other ideas. He used to go to the barber for me. He'd grumble a bit, but he'd do it, and then his hair would be neat again:

One day he was all, "I'm never getting my haircut again." He said it calmly. But firmly.

I went, "Surely you'll get your hair cut at SOME point!" and he shook his head, fluffing out his hair. "This is who I am. This is my personality."

I mean, how can you argue with THAT?

Tommy has autism, so he's always been particular about his hair. Even though he'd go to the barber, he always looked like he was in pain. He doesn't like the sensation of buzzers or scissors. He likes having his hair over his ears. I would tell the barber firmly, "And his hair MUST be over his ears!"

He hasn't been to a barber in months now. He loves his long hair. Does it make me wince a bit?

Well, yeah. I would like to neaten it up. He says he might consider going in for a trim. Possibly.

But if this is how he is going to rebel, I'll take it. This is nothing compared to what some teenagers do. I mean, at least he doesn't want a piercing. Or a tattoo. And he doesn't smoke or drink. So that's something.


Today my son turns sixteen and I can hardly believe it. He was just a tiny little boy:

"With too short hair," Tommy says when he sees old photos of himself. "Now it's amazing." And then he fluffs it out proudly.

He is pretty amazing.

Happy Birthday to my long haired boy who might one day decide to cut it. (Maybe.)