Letter to my children: Haircuts, Pedals, and Cleats

Dearest Beloveds,

We seem to be hitting a lot of milestones this month. Dragon, you are no longer Dragon of the hair. You are now a lean mean streamlined Dragon with shorn hair - ready for business. About two months ago this conversation happened at breakfast.

“Time to brush hair!”

“NO! Momma!”

“Well, the choice is to cut your hair or to brush it. I could get the scissors?”

The answer to that question had always been, “NOOO. Don’t bring a scissors. Brush it.” But not a month ago, “Okay.”

Wait a minute. “Did you just say you want me to cut your hair?”

“I am tired of everyone thinking I am a girl.”

The Bean interjects from across the table, “but you aren’t a girl.”

The Dragon looks up at me, “Momma, cut my hair please.”

So, in fits and spurts* of 6 inches here, 4 inches there, buzz cutter here, more cutting there - Dragon, you are now ready for sweating, for having a helmet fit your head properly, and for easy tick checks. Methinks you grok that your luxurious hair will never probably be that long again. But maybe not. It feels like Samson, but I do think you have kept all of your powers.

The morning after the Big Cut you asked your father to put the pedals on your bicycle. No more balancing for you, no siree! It is wonderful to see your sister teach you to ride. Up and down the hill you go.

“Dragon, watch me!”

And then the cleats arrived.

I am not sure when this happened, but apparently in the world of soccer (in which I am a new arrival), children are expected to wear cleats to practice. I don’t think I had my first pair of cleats till I was in high school. But here we are, dutifully purchasing the items listed as necessary: cleats, shin guards, ball. The cleats arrived for the both of you and they look like toys. They are so small and so incongruous. You both are so so thrilled, your Momma, well, not so much.

It seems honestly a bit silly to me to create an expectation among 4 and 7 year olds that they need cleats to play on grass. I think of all of the people in this world who play football without shoes so that our country can tell parents they need to have their children wear cleats.

Don’t think my grandchildren will be wearing cleats - at least I hope not.

Children, this is one of the most tricky things about living in this time. Our entire way of life in America is predicated on the acquiring of stuff. I feel like I do well with your clothing - trying to find goodies on eBay and whatnot. But it feels as though the beginning of the school year does seem to accompany an influx of stuff that is deemed necessary by the world we live in and strikes your mother as completely absurd and yet lovely and yet and yet. New lunchboxes, cleats, soccer balls, new masks, soccer socks, desks for your rooms, etc etc.

Necessary - yes. Horrible - yes. I feel like this is the conversation I had once with someone at Zingermans who was buying a very expense, rare, sheeps cheese from France. “Better buy this before all there is to eat is oats and water.”

Which leads us to the grazing of the commons problem. Am I purchasing cleats now because we can - and therefore I am willfully ignoring the impact of cheap global production before the walls come crashing down? Are we all just fiddling while Rome burns? A part of me is a definite yes on that one - and I need to do better about finding second hand cleats for you when you grow out of these ones obviously.

The two of you growing into this world as consumers and your awareness of gender cues is making waves in your Momma’s brain. Thank you for keeping me on my toes.

Love love love you both so so much.

*Unfortunately, Locks of Love requires that hair be at least 10 inches long. Maybe next go round.