When I asked the hairdresser to cut my hair short, I had a definite idea of what I wanted.
”I like Andrea’s hairstyle,” I said, mentioning the name of a well-known TV presenter. “Could you cut my hair like hers?” Andrea’s hair was short and bouncy. It brushed the tops of her ears. It was feminine. It also looked very easy to look after. That’s the sort of hairstyle I needed. With three young children, I wanted something that I could wash, air-dry, and then shake into position.
Natasha, my hairdresser, listened, and then she selected her scissors before launching them towards my head. The blades snipped and snapped, close to my scalp. Hair fell in clumps, covering the floor. Soon, it was all over. I stared into the mirror. Was that me? It certainly wasn’t Andrea.
My hair was sticking up in short spikes, and my ears were naked, exposed. My eyes were large and surprised. Was that really my nose? My features looked huge now that they were no longer softened by a halo of hair.
Later that morning, when I was standing in a queue in the bakery, waiting to buy rolls for lunch, a friend entered the shop. Her eyes opened wide. Her eyebrows rose. A strange look crossed her face. Then she said, “ Sue, you are awfully brave!”
Brave. Not pretty or beautiful or good-looking or attractive. Just brave.
The other day, I was reading an article about bravery. We’re brave if we do what is right regardless of other people’s opinions. We are brave if we do what we should, even if that makes us feel uncomfortable.
I’m not sure that getting a very short haircut was brave. I didn’t exactly ask for it. I didn’t say, “Cut my hair very short,” because it was the right thing to do. But I suppose I did what was right when I went out in public to buy food for my family, and risk other people’s opinions about my missing hair. Then again, I had no choice.
The day after I had my hair cut, I started growing it back. I didn’t want people staring at my head, thinking, “Why did Sue have her hair cut so short? It really doesn’t suit her.”
I’ve always been the sort of person who doesn’t want to stick out. I don’t want heads to turn as I’m walking along the road. I want to glide by without causing a fuss. But, for many years, this never happened. How can you blend into the background when you’re being followed by more than the average number of children? Ducks in a line. Everyone noticed us.
These days, it’s easier to escape attention. With children no longer living at home, we’re not such a big crowd. We can pretend we’re a conventional family. Normal. Just like everyone else. But, of course, we’re not. Our ordinary exteriors hide some extraordinary opinions.
We’re unschoolers. We live differently to most other people. Engage us in conversation, and we might share our ideas about parenting and education, how we shouldn’t control our kids but must respect and trust and accept and love them unconditionally. This is what we have to do.
Hair grows back. It doesn’t take long for a bad cut to become a memory, material for a future story. But how we treat our kids has more lasting effects.
Other people might not understand. They probably don’t agree. They could have different opinions. That doesn’t matter. We should do what we believe is right.
Be brave. Unschool.
Photos: My daughter Imogen doesn’t have a hair shortage problem!
So, I’m wondering if you’ve ever had a disastrous haircut. Have you ever been criticised for the way you’re parenting and educating your kids? Have you had to be brave and ignore other people’s opinions and do what you believe is right for your family?
Hi Sue! I’ve had all of those things. A bad haircut, criticism for parenting and education choices and a need to be brave in order to carry on and do what we believe is right for our family. That bravery has not come particularly easily for me – I also would rather not stand out, so I’m thankful that my conviction has been so clear. I could easily have wavered otherwise!
When my kids were little, I would redirect conversation, avoid talking with certain people, and so on, partly because I sensed there might be some conflict that I just didn’t have the energy for, but partly because I found that quick questions and answers didn’t leave room to really give justice to properly explaining our decision to home educate. Add to that that the lack of specific curriculum and the fact that we were doing a bit of this and a bit of that in a life learning/unschooling way, and it became almost impossible to explain the wonder of our days.
I think I’ve gained some strength over the years as well ways of answering briefly that don’t sell us short:).
Erin,
Oh yes, it’s easier to be brave when we feel very strongly about something!
Sometimes I gloss over what we’re doing, what we believe etc. Divert the conversation. It depends on the person I’m talking to. Do I want to get into a big discussion which might end in conflict? There have been a few occasions when people have discovered we’re unschoolers, and anticipating their criticism, I’ve made light of the situation by saying we’re lazy and don’t actually do anything with our days (which is what they think), but I regret doing that. We could have had some proper conversations. Sometimes people, even though they might criticise, are searching for a better way, and our words could give them something to think about. I’m not always good at considering new ideas. I initially dismiss anything that’s different from what I’m doing, but some ideas remain in the back of my mind. They refuse to go away, and I end up pondering them properly!
You are so right: how can we explain the wonders of our days?!