Since Halloween is all about make believe and dressing up and pretending to be somebody else for a few hours and getting away with it, then I sure hope what woke me from a slumber at the bewitching midnight hour was pretend.
It was a text from my oldest, a photo of the mohawk hairdo that his girlfriend had just completed atop his head of formerly beautiful dark brown hair. What! Wait, what?!?
I squinted at the phone, put on my glasses, and woke up Sir Husband who laughed so hard when he saw the picture it probably woke up the neighbors.
Yep my boy did that. A mohawk. At first we thought it was pretend, you know, for Halloween. But then we saw the locks of hair all over his shirt. So much for holiday make believe. It did not surprise Sir Husband, but it sort of freaked me out.
Might as well get in the spirit, I thought. The spirit of age 20’s fun. But the image of my firstborn with a mohawk struck me in a way that revealed an unknown underlying less-than-cool nature, and begged the question of my acceptance quotient.
I know I’m a cool mom, my kids tell me that. Sir Husband and I went to a frat party with the other son a few weeks ago on college parents weekend, apparently we are legends there. Alright then. What’s with my mohawk mayhem? I have seen so many teenage boys with mohawks, with their parents, out in public, and I never thought a thing about it, beyond being glad that my boys opted for more traditional styles.
Was this revealing my true nature? Because it was surprising me as well. I don’t believe in judging anyone about anything, pretty much ever. I am exceedingly respectful of my kids’ dreams and desires, their path and journey, and of course their boundaries. They are their own people, and can live their own lives. I will always stand behind them, no matter what they do. Heck, it’s only hair.
When I arose from my slumber I felt more like myself, now adjusted to the news of the night. I thought about how life changes and kids grow up. This is the first Halloween that none of them are trick or treating. None of them are home. There is no dressing up, no make believe, no pretending. There will be no bags of candy, no stories of neighborhood happenings, no one to run to the door to see who it is.
I looked at the giant bowl of candy on the table ready for whoever might come trick or treating. Life is different now, so very different.
My phone was on the table next to the candy and dinged with a text. Lost for a minute in the flashback movie in my mind of Halloweens past, I glanced at it.
“It was only for a picture last night Mom, it’s all shaved off now,” it said. “Trick or treat.”