As we scurried about town on Friday, trying to get everything ready for the Halloween Dance Party and the sacred time of tricks and treats, I decided to make a few last minute improvements to my children’s costumes. We looked fine before, as you can see in these pictures, but isn’t there always room for improvement? As Dash and Violet from The Incredibles, my kids looked great, but what about their hair? Ruby has blonde hair, but Violet has black hair. So we went to the store and picked up a can of black spray-on hair coloring. And then I had a thought about my son.
Dash has the power of super speed and, as such, his hair always looks like it is flying back behind him. It is like little speed lines are always on the sides of his head. Edward, on the other hand, has a floppy mop top of forward growing hair. At least it’s the right color.
As we were out shopping and browsing, I took him over to the hair section of the supermarket and picked up a small bottle of extra-hold hair gel. When he asked what it was, I told him that it was for his hair, to make him look more like Dash. He was not impressed. In fact, he seemed almost frightened of the idea. “Daddy, I don’t want to put anything in my hair!” he cried out. But I assured him that it would be fine. He was not convinced.
Well, I put the bottle in the cart anyway, and I told him that we would get it, “just in case.” He was under no obligation to put it in his hair, but since his sister was getting something special for her hair, then he might want something special too. He guaranteed me that this was not the case, but he begrudgingly allowed me to leave the item in the cart without violently hurling into a delicately stacked display, so that was something anyway.
As we completed our shopping trip, he kept looking over at that little bottle. It’s unspoken presence was weighing the both of us down as we searched for chips and salsa. We could feel it sitting there, hidden under the cider and the clementines. When we finally got to the checkout, that worried little 4-year-old guy looked up at me and said, “Daddy, I don’t wanna get that hair stuff.”
“Well, why don’t we get it anyway, in case you change your mind. Okay? Remember, Ruby is getting special hair stuff, so you might want to try it.” I was really selling it hard. “And if you don’t want to try it, you don’t have to.” He didn’t put up any more protests as I self-scanned the gel and threw it into a brown plastic bag.
Once we were home it was all Halloween, all the time. Decorations, party set-up, food prep, we were on it. When it was time to pick Ruby up from school, Edward informed her that we had gotten special stuff for his hair, but that he was not going to try it. There was one scary thing on his mind that day, and it was the terrifying threat of the evil bottle that Daddy had brought home from the store.
Once we could wait no longer, we decided to put on our costumes, and Ruby was very excited to spray her hair black. It took a lot of spraying, and we drew quite a crowd of neighborhood children, but overall her hair was at least slightly darker than it had been before, so I counted it a success and continued to help with the party. That was when Edward grabbed my shirt and said, “Daddy, I think I do want to try that hair stuff.”
We went up into the bathroom and I squirted a blob of blue goo onto his head and started to work it into his hair. He didn’t seem bothered by it at all. I talked to him as I applied the gel, letting him know that it was mostly water and it would feel like his hair was just a little wet, and then it would dry and he would hardly notice. When his hair was sufficiently gross I got my comb and began the sculpting process. I have to say, he looked pretty awesome with his Dash hair, and he seemed excited about it.
So now both of my children had Halloween hair, and we were ready for a night of trick-or-treating, dancing, eating, and basically having more fun than ought to be legal. Edward’s gel held firm, and Ruby’s hair stayed dark.
Hours past their bedtimes, after too much candy had been eaten and our legs were weary from excessive disco, we took the children home and washed all of their respective stuffs out of their hair and sent them to bed. No more spray. No more gel. Edward told everyone that we’d better remember that it was his gel, and only he could use it, and it was only for once a year on Halloween, and that was the last I thought I’d hear of it for a while.
The other night, as I was tucking him in to bed after the stories were read and the teeth were brushed, he spontaneously wrapped his arms around my neck and said, “Thank you Daddy. Thank you for buying me that hair gel. I love it.”
And that, folks, is why parenting is the best.