It was a typical Sunday morning, and I found myself in yet another battle with my 9-year-old son, Alex, over the importance of combing his hair. This is the one day each week that I insist on this simple act. It’s not just about wanting him to look presentable; I can’t stand the idea of him blending in with all the other little boys at church who shuffle in with their floppy, unkempt hairstyles and wrinkled shirts. They seem to drag their feet, as if making an effort to look decent for just a couple of hours is the worst chore imaginable.
As a parent, it’s incredibly frustrating to see how special your child is inside, yet feel like that inner brilliance isn’t reflected on the outside. It’s like when your child strolls into church with their fly down—how do you present the best version of them when they seem indifferent to their appearance?
The reality is that all of Alex’s peers often look like they’ve just rolled out of bed, and I can’t help but worry that he’ll grow up to be one of those twenty-somethings who shows up in my university classroom with a messy hairstyle, a lingering scent of Doritos, and a complete disregard for social norms.
Alex was hiding in his room, sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling. As I approached him, I considered whether this was a battle worth fighting. Part of me thought that maybe one day he’d meet someone special, perhaps in middle school, and she’d turn him down because of his unkempt hair. I sometimes envision that scene in my head—Alex talking to some bright-eyed girl who looks him straight in the eye and says, “I just can’t. Your hair is too messy.”
Sure, he’d be crushed. I’d comfort him, and maybe afterward he’d finally invest in a proper comb and some styling gel. But then again, who knows if that scenario will ever play out? My worries about his messy hair are likely more about my own projections than his reality.
I sat on the edge of his bed and said, “Hey, buddy. This isn’t such a big deal. Just comb your hair. I only ask you to do it once a week. I’ll even grab the comb and water bottle, and you can stay right there in bed.”
He dramatically waved his hands and exclaimed, “No way!”—his over-the-top response reminiscent of a scene from an old adventure movie. I started to wonder if I was being too strict, but in truth, I was just asking him to comb his hair.
Eventually, he gave in, dashed into the bathroom for a mere five seconds, and returned with a tiny wet spot on his head, clearly from a half-hearted attempt to tame his wild locks with his palm.
“Did you even use a comb?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Alex sighed dramatically and replied, “I don’t see why I need to use a comb.”
I led him to the bathroom, and to my surprise, he didn’t resist. He followed me with a look of resigned annoyance. I spritzed his hair with water and carefully combed through the tangles, parting it to the side to give him a charming look. We both gazed in the mirror, and I smiled at him. He returned the smile with that familiar half-grin that shows he’s trying not to smile too much.
Just as I was about to compliment him, he suddenly reached up and rubbed his scalp vigorously before smashing his hair down with his hands. While he didn’t look quite as polished as he had moments earlier, he certainly looked a whole lot better than before we started. I suppose it was a compromise.
Taking a breath, I crouched beside him and posed the question I often ask in these moments, “Is combing your hair really that bad?”
He nodded and replied, “I just want to look the way I want to look.”
As much as I wanted to argue with his logic, to remind him about the dress codes that come with adulthood, I held back. I reminded myself to pick my battles, hoping he’d figure it out in time. I gave him a hug because, honestly, I wasn’t sure what else to do.
Parenting can be incredibly frustrating, especially over the little things like hair combing or getting kids to eat what’s on their plate. Often, we forget that lessons aren’t learned in a single conversation—they accumulate through countless arguments and compromises. Even if I hoped I’d fixed something today, the truth is, it might take a while longer.
“You’ll get it eventually,” I told him. “I believe in you.” I winked.
Alex rolled his eyes, and we both headed to the van for church.
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In summary, parenting is a journey filled with small battles, and while we may not win them all in one go, every little step counts towards developing our kids into the best versions of themselves.