You might remember Cole’s first haircut at the hands of his mother. We were understandably worried how he would react to his first professional haircut, but our concerns were overblown.
Cole totally bought the chair-disguised-as-a-car bit because he didn’t fight being placed into the chair at all. He began turn the steering wheel almost immediately and I patronized him in an incredibly exaggerated manner, excitedly belting out rhetorical questions like “You driving, buddy?” and “Whoa, that’s a dope ride, yeah, Cole Boy!” I don’t know who I am anymore.
I let Cole keep the binky in for the beginning of the haircut for the sake of comfort. I suppose it was the parenting equivalent of an athletic superstition like getting dressed exactly the same way, or some pre-at-bat ritual. I knew it probably wouldn’t matter, but it couldn’t hurt, either, you know?
Cole didn’t cry at all! He was fussy initially as the clippers touched his head for the first time. I don’t think he was ready for the buzzing and the vibration, but it didn’t matter because a few feet away at television was playing Mickey and the Roadster Racers. That’s what his eyes are locked on in this picture. His barber was quick around the sides of his head (Will we never see Cole’s wings again?) and that alone seemed to make Cole look so fresh. I shouldn’t be surprised, though, since I let Lynnette buzz the sides of my head between haircuts for 3 years or something like that.
The only time Cole seemed dismayed by the process was when hair got onto his binky. He popped it out of his mouth and started licking his lips repeatedly, the way a dog eating peanut butter might. I took his binky and his barber took a wet napkin and wiped his mouth and tongue until Cole seemed satisfied. Lynnette, Madison, Avery, and I sat on a couch directly in front of Cole and cheered him on, but he didn’t really need it. I am sure Avery was curious as to why she didn’t get to drive around town in one of those fantastic fake cars, but she simply doesn’t have enough hair to warrant a haircut. She’s a cutie now, but whenever I look back at old pictures of her it’s stunning how little hair she was born with and how long it took for it to fill in. She really was Murray.
At the end of the cut, Cole’s barber applied some gel onto a comb and ran it through his bangs. I had never seen this technique before, so I was curious to see what the results would be. Well, the results were that he looks even more like me. I couldn’t be happier. I’m sure the fact that he’s wearing a blue and orange shirt contributes to the likeness somehow, but still. He looks like such a big boy in his collared shirt, jeans, and his side comb. I kept looking at his face as I carried him back to the van. I know this is going to sound absolutely ridiculous, but nearly 16 months later I still catch myself looking at Cole and whispering “I have a son…” to myself. Today when we got back to the van I stood facing the van and pointed into its dark tint. “Who’s that?” I said. Cole locked eyes on his reflection and smiled widely. Lynnette and I miss Cole’s little wings. He doesn’t seem to at all.