hours before...

I was afraid.  Afraid like it might change him.  Afraid like I'd married his hair and it mattered like a soul.

And if it hadn't been for a good cause I would have talked him out of it.

Because my first memory of him is how his hair fell in long waves along a fret board and how I was only a child and he was already a man.  And that hair.  Oh, that hair was a thing to see.

Liam plays his part

Of course, it didn't last.  By the time we started dating it was just growing back after a rash decision to let dear old Albert the Barber shave it off - just beginning that ugly stage of don't-make-sense and that's-a-nice-cowlick.  But it came back.  And it was oh, so lovely.

We worried over it.  Poured over pictures of potential cuts.  "I don't want a bob or anything," he'd say.

And I stood at the edge of the stage, watching my six-year-old son saw through that glory, praying that he'd still be he, ashamed at how superficial I was.

And then it was gone.  Just gone.  Like all those years of growing were erased.  And he pulled on his jacket and moved to pull his hair out from under the collar and his hands were empty.

"It's like a time warp," I tell him.  Like he's suddenly that twenty-one-year-old again, swinging by the high school to pick me up in the old Dodge Omni.  (And I'm almost giddy because that means I'm seventeen again, right?)

And I like it.  Hallelujah, Glory Be, I like it!  And I like him.  And so it continues...

A miracle worker