Haircut Trauma

Is fear of the hairdresser genetically inherited? Is it possible to pass onto your child a phobia of haircuts?

I'm just wondering... because poor little Scrag seems to have inherited my allergy to scissors.
His first haircut went smashingly... in Falmouth (UK) we spotted a specialised kids hairdresser complete with ride-on car shaped chairs and DVD players. The only trauma involved was mine - my baby now looked like a little boy.
But that was September, and as we know, hair grows. So when the little dude started to look like a real boufhead I started to have to contemplate another haircut.

A friend kindly offered to do the deed... oh dear, not very successful. Too much crying and screaming, tears and wriggling. We only managed half a haircut; it looked a bit tragic. Especially his bed-head hairdo each morning, with it sticking up all over.

So this morning, as I was making a last minute before-the-kids-finish-school-for-the-year dash to the mall to get the Christmas PJ's, I impulsively took a detour into the hairdressers.

If we thought the howling was bad when my friend attempted a haircut, think again. The poor bloke cutting Scrag's hair was going as fast as he could (on my recommendation; he needed no second prompting).

There were real tears. Why?? Why is he so upset about haircuts?

All I can think is that somehow I have passed onto him my haircut-phobia. Some people fear dentists. I don't mind dentists. For me, it's the hairdresser that makes me break out in a cold sweat.

It started very young, for me. Mum was the hairdresser (bless her. I love her. I have forgiven her). She did fine when she just trimmed our fringe and let the rest grow... but it was when she started getting creative and copying the styles she saw in magazines that we started to look really really bad (check out my sister's "pageboy" style).

Does anybody remember "The Shaggy Cut" from the 70's?? (OK, showing my age now) Like this chick from Follyfoot Farm whose haircut my mum really admired??? I had one of those hairdos when I was six. Poor innocent child. Layers all over and long strands underneath. Awful.

Worse was yet to come. At 14 (yes she still cut my hair when I was teenager) mum decided to try and copy my friend's stylish (professionally cut) bob. No, no, I said. I don't want it short like Nicola's. I just want a trim.

The sound of the scissors chopping a hunk off level with my earlobe is a sound that still rings in my ears. I put my hand up to feel what was there and felt nothing. "What have you done???!!" I squealed.

"Oops, too late now," mum said. "I'll have to keep going..."

Chop. Chop. Chop. Off came the rest of my hair. I looked in the mirror afterwards and nearly puked.

Mum knew she'd done me wrong. She even let me have the next day off school because she knew I shouldn't really have to be seen in public. When I finally did venture out, my friends' sympathy confirmed my worst fears. It was bad. There was nothing I could do about it apart from wait for it to grow. And vow never to let Mum touch my hair again.

So began the era of my younger sister cutting my hair instead. Yep, you heard me. I was desperate.

She was hardly any better than mum, though she did try her best. I was her dummy; she practised on what was left of my hair.

In fact one time she cut my hair when I was 15, my little brother took one look at me and said: "Oh no! Who did that to your hair?"

"Kristen," I replied, glumly.

"Oh man! I'm going to go and tell her she's a useless cutter!" he stated indignantly. Thanks bro, that makes me feel so much better, ya know?

At some point I must have just wised up and stopped cutting my hair altogether. So began the golden years of long uncut locks and The Perm.

These days I can't really get away with long hair (what with being forty and all). I prefer it above-shoulder length; I've finally found a good hairdresser and I manage to visit her regularly... say every 4-6 months?

I really hope my Scraggy grows out of his haircut phobia... he looks so very handsome with his new do (in spite of all the scrapes on his gorgeous wee face).

And I promise promise promise I won't ever cut his hair myself.

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