I'm a big proponent of letting your children choose their own hair styles but Camille's hair problems were challenging my ideals. Last weekend was rough. She wouldn't take a shower because she hated the feeling of water going over her hair. Every shower was a battle whose contours we knew too well. When we finally got her into the shower, we still had to face the brushing out of her hair. Last weekend, I had to cut out huge flattened mats that were beyond the power of my combing ability. She cried the whole time I was trying to brush. I hated hurting her and I finally said "You have to cut your hair. I think you're not cutting it because you're scared. The problem is that you are not willing to take care of your hair and we can't keep on this way." Then I made a deal with her that we'd look through some photos of short hair and we could find something she liked.
She ended up liking the hair cut I wanted. I was nervous. It was really short...as in cut with a razor short. It was also edgy, tough and cool as hell. Aka Camille style. But I was worried about how she'd look. Short hair is an interesting thing to pull off. I was nervous enough about myself.
So on her tenth birthday, we got up early to get her first hair cut since she was six. She even got up before me because she was so excited. As she sat in that chair, and the hair came away (she saved her pony tail for Locks of Love), I watched as her face emerged. Her face that had been hidden away was revealed from behind that mask of hair. Her big eyes, her lovely check bones. One doesn't ever forget that their children are beautiful but sometimes there are these stunning reminders.
Camille free of her hair shone. The fierceness of that face. The joy. The intelligence. The way her eyebrows shoot up with her clever wit. All that was bared before the world. For some this might make them vulnerable but for Camille it was a declaration.