Son’s Visit: Mohawk

This past weekend, my son came to visit. He is eight years old, so it is not like he just stopped by.

As usual, he wanted me to cut his hair. He likes his head shaved, but his mother and grandmother do not like that, so they make him grow his hair out. Since he lives with his mother, who in turn lives with her mother, the long amount of time between our visits allows his hair to grow quite a bit.

You know, if they were smart, they would let me cut his hair. It is not like she spends the child support money on our son, anyway. This way, she could save money on cutting his hair. Eureka! I know what it is. If he shaves his head, he will look more like his father.

Well, this past request was for a Mohawk. It is not hurting anything/anyone, so I cut his hair in a Mohawk. He looks good! I definitely think the Mohawk is his hairstyle. Moreover, he is more than ecstatic about having a Mohawk. He stands up proud, sticks his chest out, struts while he walks, and instead of lowering his eyes while he walks, he makes eye contact, greets people, and presents himself with confidence and strength. In short, the Mohawk makes him feel like a man, so he presents himself like a man.

Sunday nights are when he and I make the hour-long trek back to his mom’s house.

Inside, his excitement and pride was overwhelming when he asked his mother, “See my haircut? Do you like my Mohawk?”

His mother’s response was anything but accepting. “Mmm,” she said with disapproval. “Yup. I see it.”

Before I left, he thanked me, again, for cutting his hair in to a Mohawk. His mother only walked out of the room.

On Monday, I called to see how things went with the Mohawk.

His grandmother started the telephone call with, “You need to quit cutting his hair.”

I only laughed and insisted that if my son wants a haircut, I will cut his hair. I also told that since his haircut does not hurt anything, I will cut his hair the way he wants it.

She disapproved. And, she continued pressing me to say I will quit cutting his hair. That is not going to happen.

Apparently, they kept my son home from school on Monday. Since they did not shave off the Mohawk by Monday night when I call, I can only imagine they kept my son home on Tuesday, as well. The reason was something about the school having strict rules on haircuts. My response was to tell them to cut it off, then.

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, it’s getting cold, now. And, he needs his hair to keep his head warm,” my son’s grandmother said. I never speak with my ex-wife since the divorce. She is very childish.

“Get him a winter cap,” I said. “I get him winter caps.”

Needless to say, she continued arguing with me about it.

If they shave my son’s Mohawk, it will distress him. He absolutely loves it.

On another note, Saturday all of us visited my folks. We were not there long, maybe four or five hours. I can not visit my folks for very long. We have a tumultuous history.

Sunday, my son and I went to the park while my wife went to work. At the park, he and I made up our own Frisbee games after he was inspired by some people playing Frisbee golf.

Also, he and I made up our own game of Parkour (PK). Since I have an interest in PK, I thought it would be fun to play it with my son. Actually, PK is only a combination of follow the leader and an obstacle course. It was fun, and it is good exercise. We were jumping over knee-high concrete walls at the picnic shelter, climbing over picnic tables, and running between and around other obstacles we found.

After stumbling across a play area, we started chasing and treeing squirrels because we got bored. I taught my son how to stalk and “hunt.”

He and I had a great time treeing squirrels. We would get one up a tree, pull back and silently wait without moving, and, when the squirrel got a fair distance from the tree, would rush it, sending it scurrying up the tree as fast as its little legs would take it.

The best part was running from the play area at our first squirrel. It must have been about fifty or sixty yards away when we got in formation and began sprinting. We kept the squirrel between us and distance ourselves so we were about fifteen yards from the squirrel if it were directly between us. Then, one of us gave the signal and we sprinted as fast as we could. My son was whooping and yelling all the way. <smile>

We had an awesome time!