A friend of my oldest son took a remarkable picture of him. Not that he is a remarkable looking human being but she seems, to me, to have caught his essence. His strength, his humour, his compassionate nature. (I’m his Ma I’m allowed to wax lyrical).
I showed the photo to all and sundry – beaming mother, look at the fruit on my womb, type of thing and one friend who is involved in the world of fashion and beauty suggested he get a portfolio together and she would take him on her books as one of her models. But he would have to get rid of the fringe.
Silence in the house. The son, like all his peers, is into hair. Hair makes a statement – or so I’m told - I thought you just had to keep it clean and neat. Hair is like shoes, both tell the world how you want to be perceived. Now the son has gone through all sorts of hairstyles in the last five years, from crew cut to a No. 1, from a bleached blonde streak standing up like a Mohican at the centre parting to the latest asymmetrical fringe. This fringe irritates me. But it’s his hair and I always swore I would not fall out with my kids over either hair or clothes, life is too short and their bodies are their bodies not mine etcetera.
But this fringe. He constantly plays with it or throws it off to one side with a flick of his head like a horse trying to keep flies away from its arse. He poses endlessly in front of the mirror to get that smouldering seductive look he thinks will get him women. He’s wrong of course. His smile , his laughter and teasing gentle ways are what the ladies will go for. The fringe kills me because it also hides his lovely eyes.
I have made all these comments (without bursting his ego bubble – impossible), and was told,
“Be quiet woman! Sure you haven’t a clue about what looks good.”
Which is a fair point. But it killed me that when some other good looking sexily dressed lady – of my vintage - told him to cut his fringe that he was quite prepared to do it. Have I failed him in someway that he responded to the opinion of another popinjay like himself rather than his sensible parent?
No. I haven’t failed him, I hope. His appearance is important too him, but at aged fifteen earning a few euro from said appearance is even more important. And like he says:
‘Not worth falling out with her over it. I can always grow it again once she’s signed me’
I think I have reared a politician