Last weekend, I went bike riding with Zion when I noticed a strange sight. A bald spot the size of a nickel. Not on myself but on the nine-year old, Zion. Naturally, I googled “child hair loss” and “bald spots on children” while biking. Does he have a scalp infection or an autoimmune disease? A couple of nights later, I got my answer.
I walked into my bedroom and saw a pair of scissors on my dresser. Surrounding the scissors were hair clippings. Zion cut his hair. This took me back to the seventh grade when classmates teased and bullied me because of my unkempt hair. Trying to quiet the teasing, I found a pair of electric clippers in my mother’s bathroom and went to work.
Nowadays, the natural look is much more common, and this was Zion’s style. I assumed he liked his hair. Unfortunately, I never brushed, combed or styled it. I want to pick his hair, but he always lets out a blood-curdling howl when the pick catches one of his knapps. I stopped trying altogether. I should have kept trying.
After his latest work, Zion had a nike symbol size bald spot in his hair, and I treated him exactly the same way my parents treated me 35 years ago: a trip to the barber shop. The exact same barber shop. Zion got a low cut fade with a “Z” shaved into his hair. The same cut he received many times in the past. Back in the eighties, I got most of my hair cut off. Not quite as low as Zion but enough to stop the teasing and bullying.
In a couple of years (if not sooner), I will no longer have any say in Zion’s hairstyles. I kind of hopes he picks a natural style. It suits him and distinguishes him from me. If further wants to distinguish himself from me, he needs to stay away from scissors and clippers. As long as he does not have any nickel bald spots or nike symbols in his hair, he’ll be accepted warmly by his classmates.