Over the last 12 months, Brodie’s personality has transformed.
My once awkward and emotional wee boy has turned into a confident, outgoing young man.
Like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, he’s found his true self and seems to feel comfortable in his own skin, secure in his place among his peer group and (gulp!) even starting to notice girls.
Which is great news, as he has suffered bullying in the past, and I often wondered if he was destined to have his kind heart trampled on time after time.
But it all started when he asked if he could grow his hair…
We’ve heard the Bible story of Samson and Delilah, where he got his strength from his long, flowing locks. Well I’m not saying my boy wouldn’t be the same without his hair. But he does view his lush mane as a big part of him – which he wouldn’t want to lose.
Most of the time it’s a mop, a mess, a birds nest which he can’t be bothered to brush, and it gets in his eyes. But the individuality his hairstyle brings has made him feel more at ease with himself.
We’ve had conversations about what he would do if his gene pool meant he lost his hair later in life. There isn’t much history of baldness on his Dad’s side, but my brother is currently sporting the Grant Mitchell look, thanks to his thinning barnet.
“But bald guys are seen as virile and attractive,” I say to him. “Look at Bruce Willis and Telly Savalas.”
Brodie just stares at me, blankly.
As women, we place so much importance in our hair. Why is it so hard for us to accept that it may be the same for guys too?
So I reassure him that hair loss treatment is always an option, should he need it. (I don’t use the words Advanced Tricho Pigmentation Treatment because that might be confusing). But he seems happy enough.
“I’m going to be a rock star Mum. I need my hair,” he tells me.
And who am I to argue?