The Boy came home from school yesterday wearing a hat and looking furtive. “You know me and my mates were discussing how to raise money for charity?” he muttered. “Well . . .” and he took off his hat to reveal a NUMBER ONE SKINHEAD. I couldn’t help it. I screamed like a girl for two seconds.
I hate to see the Boy distressed. But it’s the only time that he’s likely to listen to me without rolling his eyes and/or leaving the room. I have to say something reassuring, wise and kind.
His head is like a cue ball. He looks vulnerable, his eyes large and dark, his eyebrows defiantly bushy. A hint of the bald Mysteron in Captain Scarlett, and a touch of Jake Gyllenhall in Jarhead. My little boy, all grown up and shaving his head for charity. I have to say something. He’s looking at me.
“It’ll grow back” is all I can muster.