A while back, my daughter was six.  Then, she turned seven.   A while back, my daughter repeatedly asked me to replay her favorite episodes of SpongeBob SquarePants™.  Not much later, she asked to watch an HBO special called “Locks of Love: the Kindest Cut” over and over again.  The documentary chronicles an organization that collects hair donations to make wigs for children who have lost their hair. My daughter’s first viewing was followed by many, many questions.

“Where did their hair go?” she asked.

“The children are not well,” I replied.  “Sometimes sickness makes hair fall out.  Sometimes medicine makes hair fall out.”

“Why are the children sick?” she asked, rightfully so.  She eventually asked the question I dreaded, “Am I going to get sick?” The difference between six and seven, I have learned, is huge.

At six, little thought was given to the plight of others beyond rationing treats or the hurt feelings of an excluded friend.  Just before my daughter’s seventh birthday, she and I happened upon the “Locks of Love” special while looking for something to watch together on television.  The program jumped out at her when she recognized a child in the show as being one she had seen before.  The child was not a recipient but rather a donor; a member of a Girl Scout troupe from our home town.  But when the program shifted to information or a story that made her particularly uncomfortable, Lillian asked me to turn the station.

Several times after that first day my daughter asked me if “Locks of Love” was still on and please may we watch it.  With each reviewing, her resolve strengthened.  We watched for longer and longer, until one day she watched the entire program.  I asked her if she had any questions or wanted to talk; she declined.

Some time passed without mention of “Locks of Love” until the evening before my daughter’s seventh birthday. She had played hard outside that day, muddy from head to toe.  As I brushed out her hair after her bath I remarked on how long it had become.  It was then that she told me her intention to cut off her hair so that another little child without any could wear it instead.

The following Sunday morning (very much in the spirit of the day she decided to ride her bicycle without her training wheels), Lillian declared that it was to be the day she would donate her locks.  After some breakfast and a bit of research to find a local salon supportive of the “Locks of Love” program, Lillian, her brother and I drove to the Dellaria Salon in Braintree, Massachusetts.   With a quiet determination, Lillian told the receptionist her name and informed her that she was there to cut off her hair for Locks of Love so it could be made into a wig.  Lillian met her hairdresser and was fawned over by the staff while being led to her chair. To my surprise, I heard her brother ask the receptionist if there was anyone else available to cut his hair.

Harrison had refused to shorten his hair since the previous spring, allowing only a brief “thinning” and “shaping” once or twice.  The length and style of my son’s hair had been a frequent topic of discussion in our home.  Noting my surprise, he explained that if Lillian could cut her hair he could cut his.  I told him that, while I would be pleased if he would get a hair cut, it was not yet long enough to donate to Locks of Love since they require that any donation be at least ten inches long.   He said that he was aware; that it just was time.

As the children were coiffed, I listened with interest as my daughter fell easily into conversation with her hairdresser.  She confided that she was concerned that a particular boy would not like her hair short.  Clearly amused, the hairdresser asked if the boy in question was a good friend.  Harrison and I shared an astounded glance as we heard Lillian tell her new friend that he was one of her boyfriends, but that she didn’t know if he had the “qualities she would need from a husband” once she decided to get married.  Somewhere between fighting my urge to laugh and my momentary need to sit down, I chimed in to ask my daughter what qualities she would require.  “Nice eyes, good teeth, good hair and a good job.  The usual stuff,” she replied.

“I really don’t know where she comes up with this stuff,” I heard Harrison tell his hairdresser, who was audibly laughing.

Forty minutes later I had a son who looked every inch the middle school student he had recently become.  My daughter looked much more mature with her new, sophisticated cut.  She told her brother that he looked handsome with his new hair cut.  Her brother told her that he was proud of her and that he liked her new hairdo. With the bag containing her twelve-inch braided ponytail in one hand, Lillian took her brothers hand with her other and led him out of the salon.  The spirit of camaraderie between them was unmistakable.

Two Lego™ kits and three ice cream cones later, my children and I began the short drive back home.  I told the children that I was proud of them, and asked them if they had any regrets; they both answered no.  After a brief silence, my daughter said, “Mommy, for the rest of my life I am going to grow out my hair and only cut it off for Locks of Love.”

“Wow,” said Harrison.  “Wow,” I said with a smile, filled with the sweetness of a little ice cream and the gift of love.

For more information about the Locks of Love program please visit www.locksoflove.org.

Jayne Costello Goode lives in Milton, Massachusetts with her husband, daughter, son, mother, father, cat and puppy.

Tags: children, hair, Locks of Love, love