I ventured into the beauty supply shop and I was overwhelmed. There were so many different products lining the shelves, each one promising to do make me more beautiful in their own unique fashion. If I wanted silky hair or a stronger hold, all I had to do was reach out and try one of these amazing products. Confused, I remembered why I generally avoid the beauty supply shop and stick to what I vaguely know at the drugstore.
This day, however, I had a particular mission in mind. It was time for a different hairstyle, so I thought I would venture out and purchase a flat iron... and I had a very valuable coupon. Needing professional input, I decided to ask the woman behind the register for her expert advice. Lowering her gaze and scrutinizing me from behind her rectangular glasses, she began a dialogue.
"Why do you want a flat iron? Isn't your hair already straight?" she asked.
"Well, it sort of has a little wave in it. Do you use a flat iron?" I replied, observing her very sleek hair.
"Yes, I do. But why would you want to damage your hair with heat if it's already pretty straight," she continued.
"I heard that you can use a flat iron to make long, "beachy" waves (clearly impressing her with my advanced "beauty vocabulary"). That is actually the reason I was interested in purchasing one," I informed her.
"Oh, well, that is very difficult to do. You should just use your curling iron for that. You do have a curling iron, don't you?" questioned Miss Blunt.
I was quickly beginning to surmise that she was not going to sell me a flat iron. "Yes, I have a curling iron. Do you think that is best?"
"That's what I would do," she said ending our conversation.
"Thanks for your help," I said, a bit perplexed at what had transpired.
I was left wondering about Miss Blunt's motives. Was she truly concerned about protecting my hair or did she judge by my "mom" attire that I just couldn't handle wielding such a high tech beautification aparatus? How could she have known, judging by my appearance that day, that I was once an expert curling iron wielder? Just check out these magnificent, late 80's curls.
How could she know just how much damage my hair is capable of withstanding? How could she have known that my hair survived the brutal 80's glam rock culture?
Curled tresses aside, I realize that sometimes I'm guilty of doing this to my own sons. Desiring to protect them, I shield them from harshness. I misjudge their capabilities and deprive them of the opportunity of trying something new. Assuming I know best, I stick my foot in front of their path and squelch their ambitious endeavors.
He isn't old enough.
He might fall and get hurt.
That's too big of a responsibility for him.
There are times when I need to keep them close, and times when I need to let the line out a little farther.
Because someday they will leave the nest, and they will need to know how to fly...