Tonight at our chalice lighting, as he has before, B said he was thankful for hair. His Justin Bieber hair (the style that made the boy famous, not the short ‘do) has grown back in. When asked to elaborate (an unfortunate request, on my part), he said “because hair can make you look cool, or” (pause, with length-en-ing of-the wo-rds) “not so cool”.
This is the point at which most people would stop asking questions, but I was amused and interested in how he was going to provide feedback he obviously thought I needed to hear. I asked “So, you are essentially saying that your hair makes you look cool and mine doesn’t?” He hesitated, sensing a trap. “Kinda?”
He dug the hole deeper. “It’s good and it’s bad.” I waited. He got out a bigger shovel. “I like the color!” he tried with enthusiasm. “But?” I asked. “But I don’t like the length.”
“I see,” I said, prolonging his agony.
“But I still love you!” he added, hopefully. “And I, you” I replied, hugging him. He said “Please don’t tell anybody I said that about your hair.” “I can’t promise that,” I said, smiling to myself.
After a silence elapsed, I said “I’m thankful tonight for people who like my hair”.
He hit me with a pillow.