Of Pudding Bowls and The Best Days of Your Life

Some mornings it’s really hard to find the funny side of anything.

Today started with my youngest howling and gnashing his teeth like someone has died.  Because he doesn’t like his haircut.

Admittedly there’s lots not to like.  He kind of looks like someone put a bowl over his head and went crazy with the shears on anything left showing.  I don’t think he ever aspired to join the Marines but he’s certainly trying out the do.

Still, the severity of the cut did serve a purpose – namely revealing the mass of scaly, scabby patches all over his head.  How he could have failed to notice it when washing his hair I can’t imagine, but he was as surprised as any of us.  I feel quite bad for the poor, traumatized hairdresser who seemed amazed that I didn’t know about  it, but frankly I don’t spend a lot of time inspecting the scalps of any of my teenagers.

Anyway, to return to this morning, apparently the issue was not just the haircut – that was just the last straw in a life filled with tragedy and emptiness.  Not only was he about to be subjected to track and field day, which consists of six hours playing outside with his friends and eating popsicles, but he is generally quite irate that he has to waste 12 years of his life at school learning nothing.  Frankly it’s a wicked waste of his valuable time and intellect.

Why is it that we spend 12 years detesting school and longing for the day we can escape, and then the rest of our lives wishing we were back there?

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