Legal alien in the hair salon

I decided it was time for Lucas to get a haircut. Now, if you are a parent of a toddler, you know this is not something you undertake lightly. Children - especially toddlers - don't like it when people mess with their hair. They don't like it when somebody decides for them. They don't like it when they have to sit still and they certainly don't like to wait. Come to think of it, they don't like anything they didn't think up themselves. Generally speaking, the outcome of a toddler's haircut would be a funky hairdo with uneven strands of hair, a deranged toddler, a tired mom/dad, and a hair stylist seriously considering a new career path. So when I finally decided that whilst having a daughter is fun, dabbling in gender change is a precarious thing, it was Time with a capital T.

But toddler behavior aside, I have to do Lucas right. He is absolutely adorable when it comes to cutting his hair. He gets into the big chair (even when you see sheer terror on his face) and sits quite still (even when they come at him with a razor). In my favor, I have to say that I seriously prepped him by showing him what the hair stylists did with/to other children.

So far for the overall experience. Since the move to California meant leaving behind our familiar hair stylist (I seriously considered taking her with us), I had to find a new hair salon willing to take on toddlers. And I found just that around the corner. From the outside I had already gathered that it was an Indian hair salon, so I was not surprised when, upon entering the salon, I found Lucas and me to be the only non-Indians. Now, I have never been in the role of non-native, non-majority person. The feeling of being the only 'other' one is a bit daunting I must admit. You get these furtive looks and raised eyebrows, experience an intense feeling of not knowing the rules and feel you would like to behind something. In this case, this would be the big ficus in the middle of the shop (which, it has to be said, also looked like a non-native and was most certainly in dire need of a haircut too). But I stuck my ground, standing in the middle of the shop, with my very blonde toddler, not knowing when it was our turn. The outcome: Lucas was on his best behavior and can now be called the first blonde Indian boy.

[insert beautiful picture of heaps of black hair on the floor, with strands of Lucas' blonde hair on top. Unfortunately, I didn't take this picture, because I was afraid they would really think me crazy at that point.]