…when the sweet, melodic voices of mothers all over southwest Indiana murmur to their darling teen-aged sons:
Work starts on Saturday — time for your haircut!
Exhibit A:
You probably won’t recognize this friendly Holiday World Host from the past several seasons because, well … you can only see about 30 percent of his face.
His mother (um … me) and father allowed #2 son to go organic over the winter.
It keeps my head warm. You don’t want my brain to freeze do you?
Said parents were more concerned about whiplash. John enjoyed snapping his head to swing his bangs a bit to the side. Within half a second, the hair would slide back down, and the whole process would begin again.
Yes, son, very cool. You rock.
But all good things must come to an end.
Look at the size of that head! (Did I mention John weighed 10 pounds, 11 ounces when he was born via natural childbirth? A reminder to sons with large heads everywhere: 10 shopping days left till Mothers Day.)
The poor stylist was probably ankle deep in clippings as my sheep-dog son was shorn.
But in the end, all is well. The haircut is complete.
I can see John’s blue eyes again and …
… my middle child will qualify to earn a summer paycheck once again.
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