At first, it was a mohawk version that went all the way to the nape of his neck. Now y'all. I am from Mississippi, but I'm sorry, I couldn't do it. It was just too much. I encouraged them to edit it a bit ... suggesting that perhaps a more "army-guy flat-top approach" might be better. They bought it. So, this is what we ended up with:
|If only you could see the difference where his beach-brown skin meets his hairline.|
|They actually eat all the time and haven't been in a concentration camp, but the main point of this is the distinct hair qualities.|
So, the day after the mohawk was complete, we decided to go to Radnor. The boys were going to scooter and I was going to exercise by keeping up with them. Sam wakes up that morning and runs into the kitchen, looks at me seriously, and says, "Do I still have my mohawk?"
"Yes," I say, surprised that he thought it might go away in the night. "It's a haircut, so it's not going to go away."
With much conviction, he snaps at me, "It's not a HAIRCUT! It's a MOHAWK!"
So, we're getting ready to go to Radnor, and Sam comes up to me and whispers, "Can I take my mohawk to Radnor?"
"Um..... of course!" I reply, thinking that something is really wrong with his understanding of object permanence.
Now when we go somewhere and people admire his "haircut," they are met with a very curt response:
IT IS NOT A HAIRCUT. IT'S A MOHAWK.
Indeed. And, for now, it's still there.