Mum felt better looking
at her tidy trimmed hair
reflection in the mirror.
The hairdresser pointed out
little brother’s thick curly thatch
would soon be hard to trim.
Brushing little brother’s hair
caused loud screaming sessions
but Mum still loved those curls.
Reluctantly she plucked little
brother from the salon’s toy
corner, placed him on the
special children’s cushion
on the hair salon chair.
But active energetic little
brother would not sit still
on the cushion so they stood
at the street window to watch
the cars go by. The hairdresser
snipped here and there as his
head turned from side to side.
At last the job was done
the thatch of curls scooped off
the floor into a plastic bag.
Mum went soberly home with
a cheery little brother and
a bag of discarded curls.
lifecameos 
A poignant part of growing up, and so well told –as always!
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Thank you. The curls will be shared with grandmother and 101 year old great grandmother. Little brother does not miss them and will need another hair cut soon.
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And here I was trying to figure out how to Murder my little brother….He had blond curls when he was little after awhile they turned brown…now he’s bald. Funny Uh? Now I have to go out to shovel…
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…snow ? iLittle brother’s father had glorious curls when he was little. By 22 his hair line had greatly receded. He has been shaving what is left for some time now.
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just like my brother….
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One of life’s transitions, a small, fleeting moment experienced by many. I liked this poem.
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Thank you. As you will realise this moment was much bigger for Mum than little brother.
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