faux pa

On Tuesday of this week Brennan decided that it was time for a haircut. Not just any haircut, but a fauxhawk.

Preparation
Brennan had google imaged the exact style he was going after. It was part Cristiano Ronaldo, part David Beckham, part random male model. He made me look at each picture three times, then promise him I could replicate the look on his eight year old noggin.

Trepidation
As we walked to the backyard Brennan nervously asked repeatedly whether or not I could do this (even though we had been through that in the first stage). I assured him I could. When we got to the back door he paused, looked up at me and asked, "I don't know if I'm ready for this. I'm not sure that this is a good decision." "Hair always grows back," I replied. "You're right" he sighed in relief, "thank you for saying that. Ok, I'm ready."

*haircut* (mostly buzzing and silence)

Frustration
After announcing completion of the haircut and dusting him off as best I could, he sprinted inside to assess my masterpiece. He jumped up on the couch, looked in the mirror...then dramatically flung himself down to the floor exclaiming, "I knew you couldn't do it! This looks terrible!" Controlling my urge to laugh hysterically, I calmly replied, "let's go upstairs to the bathroom."

Elation
4 ounces of hair gel and 15 seconds of hairspray later and the fauxhawk was spiky perfection. His furrowed brow broke, and a smile emerged. "I love it. It's perfect." He watched its reflection like it was a newborn; endless adoration and amazement for a completely unresponsive inanimate object.

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Preparation
Last year I purchased a pair of Levis that were a perfect fit everywhere but the inseam. Shocker, I know. I took them to my alteration specialist (?!), Kim, and told her that I needed the jeans shorter, but I wanted to keep the original hem. Also, I wanted the hem reconnected with red thread. She smiled and reluctantly accepted the odd request.

Trepidation
I smiled, and nervously left the Levis with her, knowing she may destroy what could be a perfect pair of jeans (either by getting the length wrong, or using some thread other than red).

*sewing* (I'm assuming a lot of humming and Christian rock on the radio)

Frustration
Three days later when I went to pick them up, I pulled them out of the plastic only to find that she had reconstructed my Levis with navy thread. I'm a reasonable guy. I don't like to make a fuss when I'm a customer. Especially not with Kim, my alteration specialist. But it had to be red. I reminded her of my original request, which she immediately remembered. She said she'd redo it. Then added, with annoyance oozing through her Cambodian accent, "You be silly boy."

Elation
Maybe so, but I be silly boy rocking some red thread on my hem...and to this day, they are my favorite pair of jeans. Sometimes I watch their reflection in the mirror. But they are animate. Because I'm dancing in them.

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Style decisions may be based on modeling (copy cat), rebellion, or simply some idea that has no basis for being cool, but cannot be altered. And must be executed. Soon.

Brennan, if you read this when you are 15, it might be kind of embarrassing for you. Not because I made my observations of you public, but because you will still be doing this stuff in 7 years. And at 31. Trust your pa on this one.