« birthday shots | Main | down in a hole »

spikes and streaks

spikes and streaks

My father took DJ for a haircut on Thursday. It's one of those bonding rituals that they have. Every three weeks, whether he needs it or not.

So Thursday they come home from the hair place and pull into the driveway and there's DJ in my dad's little BMW convertible, looking like the coolest kid on the block with that...spiked up haircut? And....what the hell? Is it pink? Maroon? Red?

DJ gets out of the car and has this huge grin on his face. As he comes closer I can see better. Yes, the hair is dyed (temporarily). It's been sculpted and gelled so the front part is sticking straight up. It's some hideous shade of red. The rest of his hair is close cropped and the top part is also dyed. DJ is giving me the thumbs up. I'm not letting on that I think it looks great or that I don't care what color his hair his because frankly, I'm stunned that my father had something to do with this.

When I was in seventh grade, I decided I wanted red hair. Or at least streaks. I followed my cousin's instructions and put a combination of peroxide, lemon juice and Sun-In through my black hair. And then I went outside and sat in the sun for a few hours. Voila! I had red hair. Well, maybe more like orange. Brownish-orange even. Whatever it was, it was no longer black.

We sat down for dinner that night and my father noticed my hair. How could he not? He was pissed. He went into this long, disturbing rant about the hair color that he gave me, and why wasn't that good enough for me, why did I have to change what was given to me at birth and I stared at him incredulously because I had no idea he was so proprietary over his DNA. He grounded me. For coloring my hair when I was 13 years old, I got grounded.

So here he is with my nine year old son, grinning like a little schoolboy and saying isn't it great? Doesn't he look cool? And then They have the blue color that Natalie wants, maybe I'll take her tomorrow. And then I told him when this color comes out he can get it dyed with blue and orange streaks for the Islanders. Amazing. I was always told that grandparents acted differently with their grandchildren than with their own kids, but I certainly wasn't expecting this.

So it's time for DJ's baseball game. Keep in mind that it's 90 degrees out. DJ gets up, puts his helmet on, and hits one to the outfield. He runs the bases, ends up on second. The next batter sends him home. He crosses the plate, takes off his helmet and there's red streaks of sweat running down his forehead. The dye is apparently more temporary than my dad thought. Everyone looks at him as the stripes of reddish brownish maroon streak his face. I'm waiting for the jokes. I'm waiting for him to hide. But no. All the kids want to know is where he got his hair dyed. And how cool it looks. DJ grins at me from his red streaked face.

I'll be going to the store today to get his blue and orange hair paint, as they call it. I told my dad I was thinking of getting a few purple streaks in my hair myself. He told me he would ground me if I did.


Adam suggests (after I make him read this) that maybe that is your dad's subtle way of apologizing, years after the fact.

(Or it could still be revenge. Muahahaha.)

It seems like your Dad trusts you and has simply mellowed with age. I heard a comic once describing how parents change with successive children. The first childs gets in trouble for everything. By the time the last child comes around it's more like, "no freebasing or needles in the living room."

It's sounds more like early onset Alzheimer's to me.

Just joking.

Strangely enough, my parents seem to be about the same with my brother's kids as they were with us: if you follow the (mostly reasonable) rules, no one will get hurt. If you choose to ignore them, you do so at your own peril. (Not that they're into physical punishment or anything, they just expect kids to obey certain rules. Although we were much more obedient than my brother's kids are... at least when we were 10 and younger.)

Don't ever stop writing. My day wouldn't be the same without this.

That's awesome that your dad did that. But how frustrating for you!
The idea of your dad "giving you" hair color conjures obscene imagery. Mostly because I heard the same line from my mom, before getting beaten for using food coloring in my bangs, and either way: ew. Like they're thinking "brown hair blue eyes 5'6" above average IQ carrying male pattern baldness gene!" when they get off.

Say, Michele, how was your earthquake this morning?

Either I didn't feel the earthquake down here or I just attributed the rumblings to the earth-shattering sex I was having.

shiver on my leg touch it once, twice, hold me~ then kiss these trembling lips sex after dinner, don't look back our future is shead and present for a fact

I love red hair but i died my hair with hydrogen perxoide & hair gel & it turned out to be this beautiful brownish orange hair color !! yall should try it !!