Parker’s first haircut.

You see, I haven’t always been the most emotionally stable in terms of my babies’ firsts and thus, we’ve just continued happily passing right over this one until Parker was all of four years old and in need of a haircut while traipsing through the streets of Orvieto.  That’s not to say he’s never had his hair cut.  He’s had probably close to ten, all by me with some way-too-dull hair cutting shears that I can never find when I need them.  In the bathtub in the winter (then vacuumed afterwards), or on the driveway in the summertime.  We’ve always managed this way, a little here and a little there, but those shears didn’t make the trip to Italy and his long hair did.  No big deal for most kids, but he’s a nervous fellow, Parker is.  I blame it on the fact that he needed stitches at a young age (or maybe that his own mother is prone to anxiety?  Could it be?!) but he turns these things over in his head, investigating them from every angle.  You can almost watch the gears turning.  From an emphatic no, to a, when I’m older, to an, I don’t like the barber-man! (what’d he ever do to you?!), to a maybe.  I don’t like to push him into things, but that hair was not getting any shorter, and I just knew that he’d be happier if he overcame his fear.  His nervousness around it was almost making him moody.  So, Steve and I talked it over with him, and mentioned names of friends who have had their hair cut, and even promised a cool homemade wooden crossbow that he keeps eyeing every time we pass this store in town.  He decided he could do it, but he was so nervous.  The whole thing sort of breaks my heart.  You can just see the fear on his face, the stoic determination, the hint of tears in his eyes.  Buddy!  You kill me.  And so we went in, and for a few moments all was forgotten while we tried to communicate what sort of haircut we wanted.  Steve removed his hat, motioned to his own hair, I said, “not that short” while googling the Italian word for short.  The barber left the store and came back a minute later with a friend who’s English was only a tiny bit better.  We all laughed while Parker waited for his turn in the seat.  Once he was decided, he sat on that seat like a big kid, and was perfectly still watching himself in the mirror while he got his hair cut.  9 euros later, he looks like a big kid, is so proud of himself, and is the happy owner of his very own crossbow.  And what do you know, every time we pass the barber, we wave to the man and Parker, with a smirk on his face, says, “I like that guy.”