I'm truly sorry.

I know all too well the pains caused from a bad hair cut during your childhood. "Ahh, what a nice looking mullet Jenn," said by a high school boyfriend while looking at my picture from when I was 3 years old. Or "Little boy, what are you doing in the girl's line?" said by a substitute teacher when I was in 1st grade. I am saddened (NO I AM NOT!) that I don't have any of these pictures at my house to post to show the pain I endured through my childhood; they are thankfully at my mom's house.  (Hopefully you can picture them using your own imagination and the exact quotes provided above.)

However this post is not about MY bad haircuts. It is about my poor boy's bad haircut. And I admit, I did it. Jack, it was me. I had the clippers in hand. I started out with no guard on your hair. I tried to fade it with a N0.2 guard. I tried, but with each little wiggle you made, it seemed to just get higher and higher and less and less hair remained on your head. (To be honest, you could have sat still a little better, but hey, I'll forgive you.) I am the one who caused you to have this so-called haircut. For that Jack I want you to know, I am truly sorry. I love you more than you'll ever know and you will always be my most handsome boy, even if I can't help but thinking of Jarhead every time I see you now.

 

Afton really likes it.

"It's like your bald already Jack. You didn't even have to get old. Plus it feels reals pokey."