this trip's overview

(about the Islands)

SFO to LHR

stranded!

LHR to LHR

spending Iberia's money

baggage arrives

along the beachfront

visiting el Medico

Isaac's first haircut

R & R

Faro Maspalomas

cockroaches!

San Fernando

All over...

Puerto de Rico & Puerto de Mogán

el penultimo

on to London

Tuesday 14 January 2003

Last night, as Isaac and I were taking a tub, I realized that I wasn't keeping up with the tangles in Isaac's hair. At home, in San Francisco, it's a job which takes about an hour each evening (and a lot of conditioner). But I've always been [ever so slightly] ahead of the game.

Here in Gran Canaria I'm rapidly falling behind. I'm not sure whether it's the minerals in the very hard water, or the salty air, or the specific moisture, but his tangles have multiplied beyond belief. Last night I got them all out save two, which were so entwined that I had to cut them out; a first.

Last Labor Day I got my Burning Man haircut, a bald buzz we did ourselves in our back yard. Isaac and I talked about haircuts, the impermanence of hair, having choices about hair and style, not being tied to habits, etc.

Up to that point, whenever I went to a barber Isaac would come along, and when asked as to having a haircut, would pull himself up to full height and loudly answer "No! I have long, beautiful hair!" Then he'd climb into the next barber chair and watch the goings-on. He never had a problem with me getting my hair cut, and in fact delighted in being part of my buzz cut and subsequent buzzes and trims.

To get back to the story at hand, Isaac's hair was winning the battle. I'd been mentioning the advantages to having short[er] hair, such as no long bathtub un-tangle sessions, no hair in mouth and food, no hair getting pulled by zippers and buttons and sisters, all the while hoping that I could get control of the hair back from the demon of tangles. (We'd always wanted to let Isaac be in control of his hair length, and I was loathe to change that. We always assumed that once he got to school the peer pressure would kick in, but still, we wanted it to be Isaac's choice.)

This morning I borrowed a scissor from Omi Marga, and another one from Antonio at the front desk, just in case. But I didn't want to cut his hair, and almost convinced myself that there wasn't a need until I noticed new ferocious tangles in the hair I'd painstakingly teased out last night. Grrr!

I brought Isaac back to the apartment, and with Rose's permission, started to cut his hair while Lila was being put to nap. I set up two chairs on the porch, aimed the video camera, and started in. Remembering what barbers do, I cut his hair in the natural groups it forms, all at a uniform length of about two fingers wide. I was lucky; this made a sort of natural layering and it doesn't look as though a first-time barber had a bad hair day :-)

Isaac seemed in great spirits, had great behavior while I cut his hair, and as a reward we went downstairs to the swimming pool. The water was incredibly cold, and after only a short time we retreated to the hot waters of the bathtub, where these photos were taken. This is the first photo of a shorn son:

Lila woke up and couldn't figure out who the boy in our room was, until he started to speak. She was really pleased, running over to him, pushing his head, and then laughing uproariously. Rose was pretty amazed, although she - and I - will miss those golden locks.

Rose said "make sure you take a photo of the back of his head, so it's really clear how different it is". So asked, so done. A before picture would have shown his wet hair down to the water-line.

After this we went back to the children's playground at the Yumbo Centrum, had some more Morrocan peppermint tea, a wonderful German pot roast with dumplings, and everyone to bed by 21:00. Actually, I'm hoping to see if some old friends of mine are playing music around the corner. Maybe...

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