Mothering the Mother

My mother was throwing another party. Several of her friends were there, they were all drinking, talking, and enjoying each other’s company.

I was in and out of the room, checking up on things, making sure everyone was behaving. I heard my mother comment that she loved this guy’s haircut and that she’d like to get her hair cut that way. There was no chance that this haircut would look good on my mother!

It was a man’s haircut with lots of short and with a thin layer of hair along the (picture a rat’s tail that went all the way across). The man started telling her that he could cut her hair like his with no problem.

My mother was very inebriated at this time of night, and I knew that this would be a horrible decision, so I stepped in. I told her that it was not a haircut for her and that she should think about it some more.

The guy persisted that he could really cut hair, and she continued raving about his haircut.

I eventually told the guy that he was NOT to cut my mother’s hair!

She had long red hair that she frequently curled and was very stylish at the time. I repeatedly checked inside the living room to be sure that there was no hair cutting going on.

At about 4 am, I finally gave up the vigil. I again warned this man to NOT cut my mom’s hair and went to bed. After all, I had to be up by 7 am to get ready for school.

When I awoke a few hours later the house was quiet. I frantically ran to my mother’s room and threw open the door to look at her head. I saw some long strands of hair on the pillow, so I blew out a breath thinking all was fine. Disaster averted. That was until I made it to the living room.

In the corner of the room was a large pile of red hair! He had indeed cut her hair into that awful style!

I knew that she would hate it, that she would regret it, but there was nothing that I could do at that point. I admonished myself for going to bed without making her friends leave…but then I remembered that I was not the adult in this situation! I did everything that I could to stop her from making this bad choice. I had been doing that my whole life. She had her own mind, however, and I couldn’t always stop her from doing things she would regret.

It took over a year for that haircut to grow into a new style. She did indeed hate it, but it was one consequence that she just had to live through…

Please read the next part of my story: he died because of you!