The other day after school I sprang a haircut appointment on Luke. It is an understatement to say he wasn't happy about this interruption in his Lego time. As he sat down in the hairstylist's chair, muttering complaints, I said cheerily, in an effort to change the mood, "Is there anything different you'd like Ashley to do to your hair?"
"I want a mohawk," he said.
"Uh," I said.
Ashley looked at me and smiled. And then, hiding her mouth with her hand, she whispered, "FAUX-hawk."
He spent that evening asking every five minutes, "Is my mohawk still standing up?"
And the next morning, he expressed concern that if he wore his hoodie during recess it might mess up his hair. "Don't worry if it does," I said. "It's more important to be warm and comfortable so you can play and have fun."
"But it's more fun for me to have this mohawk than to play," he said.
However, yesterday afternoon, after we got back from seeing Santa at the mall, he slicked his hair down flat before running across the street to ask his friend to come out to play.
"Why are you doing that?" I asked.
"I don't want Emily's father to see my mohawk," he said.
"Why not?" I asked. "Are you worried he might tease you?"
"No," he said. "It's just that he won't know who I am."