Splitting Hairs

Little Man is becoming, well, a little man.  He is putting together sentences, mimicking everything he hears, is growing taller by the minute, and even slowly starting the chaos that is learning to use the bathroom.  We crossed another milestone when he sat for a full haircut.  Now, this wasn't his first trip to the barbershop; he had gotten a trim about six months ago, and about two months ago we decided the time had come to take his hair short.  While he didn't exactly fight getting his hair done in the morning, it wasn't his favorite thing.  Wash night was a bit of a process made more difficult when he was overtired and just ready to be in bed.  He still confused food with hair product at meals, and with warmer weather approaching we knew short hair would be much more comfortable.  So, I made the appointment and took him to the barbershop.

It was a disaster.  The appointment was later in the afternoon, and for some reason despite a good nap Little Man was not in good spirits even before we left.  I debated rescheduling, but I thought the adventure would cheer him up.  This, dear readers, was a gross miscalculation.  Little Man was in tears from the moment we walked to the chair, and due to a mix of embarrassment and exhaustion I was quick to follow.  James, the amazing barber who has guided us on hair care from the start, showed more patience that perhaps we deserved.  Little Man refused to sit in the chair alone, and despite clinging to me he fought sitting in my lap.  James finally managed to hold him and get the job done.  I left feeling sick to my stomach -- I never wanted Little Man to see the barbershop as a scary place, and I worried that this experience would leave a negative imprint.  There was also a part of me that didn't recognize my baby boy; his hair was one of his defining physical features, and to see it gone gutted me.  I spent the rest of the evening wracked with guilt.

However, I had spent enough time learning about Black hair care to know that I needed to trust James' expertise.  If Little Man wasn't able to have his hair cut that day, he would have stopped.  Was he actually in pain?  No, he wasn't -- despite his tears, once James started cutting he didn't pull away. That night he kept rubbing his head and saying how soft it felt.  The next morning it was so much easier to get ourselves out the door on a tight schedule, and the following wash night was a breeze.  He started to want to brush it himself in the mornings, so knowing he was starting to understand the motions was a positive move.  Though the cut wasn't properly lined up, it was done and it seemed to make everyone happier.  So, to ensure it was properly maintained I knew it wouldn't be long until we had to return and do it again.

I made the appointment with a lot of fear, but I noticed there were already some differences before we even stepped through the doors.  I did make the appointment earlier in the day to ensure he was better rested, but the bigger difference was with me.  While Little Man is still all up in his feelings as toddlers are, he has started to better regulate on his own and with me.  I braced myself for tears, but I felt like I could better handle them.  I never want to see him upset, but I'm slowly starting to separate his feelings from my own.  I knew any sadness would be just that; I was still ensuring that he was safe and taken care of, and while he may not have liked it he wasn't going to be harmed.

I also knew from my deep dive into hair care that I needed to cede all control to James.  He and I worked together last time to get Little Man through the haircut, but I realized my job was not to be the co-pilot; I needed to be a passenger.  Comforting Little Man was well-intentioned, but I was subconsciously sending the message that the experience was something that was worthy of upset by providing reassurance.  By stepping back I would allow him to decide how he wanted and needed to feel.  James knew last time had been hard, and he spent a few minutes chatting with Little Man beforehand just to rebuild some rapport; as he headed to his station to prepare he said he wanted to start with Little Man doing this alone and that I could provide support as needed...as opposed to my mama instinct to build him up to the moment.  It was hard to hear but it was necessary.

So, I took a deep breath and did what was best for Little Man and not for me.  There was some initial hesitation so James invited me to walk Little Man to the chair.  Thanks to his interest in climbing everything nowadays he was intrigued enough to get into the chair himself.  Getting to wear a cutting cape with a dinosaur on it certainly helped.  I stood somewhat close while James had his back turned to grab his tools, but once James stepped up I made my way to the waiting area.  There were tears to begin as he looked and called for me, but I stayed put.  I offered a bit of assurance from afar to remind Little Man that I was there and wasn't leaving, but otherwise I literally and figuratively sat on my hands and let James do what he does best.  It took a few minutes, but the tears stopped.  Little Man went from upset to pensive to resigned to engaged all within the course of the haircut.  He did so well that James knew he could do more than just shaving down the hair, so he proceeded to do the precision work needed to line up the cut.  

As he worked Little Man started to chat with him, a sign of comfort.  I tried to stay cool, but inside I was bursting with pride.  I was tempted to shed a few tears, but this time it was out of joy.  To literally see the moment it clicked for him made me feel like more of a parent than me standing there holding his hand.  At the same time, though, what I felt wasn't just pride.  I was seeing what it means for us to keep him connected to his culture.  When transracial adoptees talk about finding identify, this was a perfect example.  He was in his element, surrounded by people who looked like him and embraced him.  This was where he belonged, and my sitting back allowed him to cross into a world that is rightfully his.  While I will always be a welcomed visitor, my seat will always be in the corner.  As a parent it is hard to let go, but I choose to not see it as letting go -- rather, I see it as letting him be what and where he is supposed to be.