Stressors

He got a haircut on Saturday and came out of the salon pretty disappointed,  "It's short, Mom, way shorter than I wanted."  He spent the rest of the day avoiding the family and generally sulking. I get it, I'm kind of sensitive about my hair as well.  He managed to make it through the rest of the weekend without irrevocably damaging family relations.

D-Day, though, is heading back to school, even high school, with a new haircut.  Being a stoic guy, he wouldn't say anything to me like, "I'm sure that someone will make a snide comment about my haircut; or, gym class will be hell when the guys see that I got a haircut," he just continued on, holding those feelings of anxiety in and snapping outwards at those who love him most, in anticipation of whatever will get dished out by his friends.

So this evening, worried as always, I asked him how the day went with his new haircut. "Did anyone say anything?"

"No, not really. No one mentioned it," he said, somewhat sheepishly.

"Well, it looks good," I said.  "I like it."  

"Thanks, thanks for being a mom," he replied, with a charming sixteen year-old grin,  a slight tilt to the lips, perfect teeth showing just a bit, his handsome haircut brushed to one side framing his beautiful brown eyes.