My 8-Year-Old Son Came Home From the Barber With Half His Hair Cut—When the Crying Barber Told Me Why, I Went Pale

clean above his ear. The left side hung long and untouched, exactly as it had been when he left the house forty five minutes earlier.

“Can I have two dollars for a lollipop?”

“Tyler, honey. What happened to your hair?”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Mr. Lewis stopped.”

“Stopped? Why?”

He shrugged, one small shoulder rising and falling under his jacket.

“Humor continue reading …