To Cut or Not to Cut

I love my son's hair. It is long and wild and strong and black and thick and curly. Beautiful in braids. Sometimes wild and free. Don't get me wrong. He is gorgeous with his hair cut short. Handsome with a curly 'fro. His hair has been a source of pride for him for so long.







I remember his first hair cut. He was little. I still have the curls the woman clipped in a plastic bag, in a cabinet. His second hair cut was somewhat of a mistake. We wanted shorter curls and the woman cut his hair into an ugly bob. We had to take the rest off to make it look better. I fought back tears when I arrived at the salon and saw what she had done to his hair. (Daddy went in with him while I parked.)









Since we arrived here, I have encouraged him to speak up for himself and his hair. Tell them you're a boy. And when he told a teacher, "I'm a boy!" and she didn't believe him, I explained that some people just don't understand that some boys have long hair.

In New York, my child's hair was never an issue. In New York, his hair was a source of pride. When it stretched halfway down his back, he finally had the longest hair of any boy in his class and he loved it. He whined and cried through getting his hair braided, but in the end, he strained his neck and his eyes to get a good look at his beautiful new style. His daddy has long hair. We jokingly compare our hair, each of us vying for the longest curls. And we knew when we came that his long hair would be a source of conflict. But I never thought that six weeks into the school year, children and adults alike would still be coming up to me and asking me if my child was a girl or a boy.


And now I am struggling. Do I cut his hair to help him fit in and diminish the teasing he has been subjected to daily? Or do I stand strong with him and try to change the very conservative culture to which I have introduced him? Do I teach him that when the going gets tough, we give in? Or do I teach him that we fight to be who we are, no matter the pain and heartache it might bring? Do I make his life easier or continue to allow him to struggle against an overpowering current? And do I teach the other children at the school that people must conform to their standards to be accepted? Or do I allow my child to be himself and teach them to accept differences?

We preach open mindedness. It is posted in every classroom. We include it in our lessons. But at this moment when the ability of children to be open minded is tested, it is not present. And in my mind, I know we must continue to teach children to be open to difference. But my heart is breaking for my seven year old, the poster child for difference in his new school. All he wants to do is fit in. Doesn't he have the right to just be himself?

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dogs' Tails

What are little boys made of?

We wrote poetry in my Year 2 class today, inspired by Margaret Wise Brown's The Important Book. (Great book of poems for little ones!) Each poem started with, "The important thing about me is..."

As I watched the children work, it occurred to me that my little boys and little girls are very different. Perhaps more so than little boys and little girls with whom I've worked in New York. Zahra wrote, "The important thing about me is that I like flowers." Ella hunched over her paper, writing, "The important thing about me is I like to read. And I like the wind blowing on my face." Meanwhile, Motaz and Hassan, with their backs to me at a small table drew mustaches on their faces with the felt tipped pens. Yes, mustaches.

Work continued after a brief reprimand and reminder about the purpose of pens in our classroom. Jenna, with a big smile on her face wrote, "The special thing about me is I can do a handstand into a backflip." And Emma, face concentrated and with great care wrote, "The important thing about me is I look like my family." Khalil struggled to finish copying, "The important thing..." Vince sucked on his pen, spraying saliva onto his paper.

And I realized that my boys and my girls are very different.

Omar did manage to get some words down independently! "The important thing about me is I like cars." And with a great deal of coaching, Vince managed, "The important thing about me is that I eat chicken." Other boys eventually followed suit with, "I like to eat." "I drink milk." "I like coffee ice cream." Vince continued, "I eat chicken and rice. I eat rice and beans. I eat beans and soup and potatoes."

And I realized that my boys, for the most part, could say nothing about themselves other than what they liked to eat and drink. But the girls described their passions and interests easily. The girls portrayed themselves as competent in all areas of their lives at home and at school, while the boys showed themselved to be capable of stuffing their faces.

At the end of our work time, the boys fooled around while the girls busied themselves tidying up.

And I realized that this is the problem with Sudan, and perhaps with the world:

Little girls who are expected to help with housework, clean, and care for younger siblings learn not only these skills. They learn that they are capable and that they share responsibility for doing work. Yes, even little girls with nannies and servants learn that they must help at home. Little boys here are rarely expected to do anything. They don't carry their own backpacks. They don't remember their own homework. They don't go to bed unless they feel like it. They refuse to wear socks and then, when they get blisters, they blame the nanny. (True story!) And from this they learn that they are incapable of doing anything independently.

And then they grow up in this society where men run things. Yet many of these men have never even learned to make their bed or wash a dish. The girls grow into strong, capable women, frequently relegated to jobs far beneath their abilities, dismissed by insecure men who feel entitled to boss people around.

And I'll admit, my son has these tendencies, and I'm trying to figure out where I'm going wrong. "Mommy!" he yells from the kitchen floor, "Did you have to leave my lunch box open! Now everything fell out." Or, "Mommy! I said I wanted a peanut butter sandwich and now it's too late because it's bed time." I try to keep my temper in check and refrain from using sarcasm as I remind him that he is perfectly capable of making his own (damn) peanut butter sandwich and had he not been watching cartoons, he might have remembered that he wanted one. We've been having daily chats about personal responsibility while I tremble with fear inside... Have I ruined him already?

Admittedly, this is a gross oversimplification that draws on many presumptions that are, perhaps, baseless. But it sure is interesting to think about, isn't it?