It may take decades, but we do reap what we sow
Are We There Yet? • LORI CLINCH
I'll never forget the day that I rounded the corner and laid eyes on a pair of my mom's scissors.

I was about 7 years old at the time, and the urge to cut something could only have been compared to what pyromaniacs must feel when they put their hands on a pack of matches.

I remember looking all about the house in hopes of finding the perfect thing to shear. There was Mom's houseplant, but that was no good. The fringe on the table runner wasn't very tempting. Cutting paper was too much like sitting in art class, and although shearing a pair of shoestrings should have been fun, I wasn't sure that it would be the adventure that I craved.

It was then I decided that cutting hair would be just the kind of fun I was seeking.

I wasn't one of those little girls who gave herself a mullet and then presented herself to her mother with a smile. Oh no, I was way too vain for that. And heaven knows, there was certainly no need for me to be cutting my own hair with a gullible little sister lurking about.

Patti had long, thick hair. It was pretty, it was blond, and if ever something would be fun to hack, that would be it. "Hello, sister dear," I said in my sweetest of voices. "Do you want to play beauty shop?"

Patti would not have hopped up onto a barstool for just any scissor-toting 7-year-old, but I was her big sister and sadly enough for her, I could convince her to do most anything.

In no time at all, I had Patti perched and reading one of Mom's magazines while I draped her with a bath towel. "How are you doing today, Ms. Patti?" I asked as we commenced to imagine that we were in a salon. "Hmm, hmm," I said as Patti complained about her make-believe children and an imaginary husband who worked all of the time. "Do go on, girl," I said as I pulled out the scissors, "Do go on."

It only took about one or two cuts before Patti realized the tickle on her face was her bangs falling off and that this rendition of beauty salon wasn't taking place only in our imaginations.

Now there are those who believe in a tit for tat, that folks reap what they sow and that what goes around comes around.

Therefore, I suppose the good Lord himself must have made a mental note that day. He must have told himself that one day he'd avenge my mother who had to pay a great deal to a real hairdresser to make my sister presentable again. And my dear mother only jinxed me further when she turned to me and said, "Just wait until you have kids of your own."

I had darned near forgotten about the incident until the day one of my own little dears appeared at my side. I was engrossed in paperwork at the time, so when he tugged at my arm, I didn't really look at him, just patted the little guy on the head.

What I felt was not good.

When I turned to look, what I saw was far worse than anything I could have imagined, for he had taken scissors and had worked diligently at removing most of the hair from the top of his cranium.

"I cut my own hair, Mommy," the little guy said, and Lord help me if my little 6- year-old didn't look like a "before" photo for a hair-restoration commercial.

I called the kindergarten teacher the next day to forewarn her in hopes of doing a little damage control. I then tried to play it down to my little guy as I drove him to school, telling him there are things more important than appearances and the world is full of people with different hairdos and this style that he was sporting right now was not the end of the world.

"It's OK, Mommy," he said as he admired his hair in the rearview mirror

"It is?"

"Yes," he said. Then, almost as if to make sure that I had reaped what I had sown, he added, "When I get to school, I'm going to tell everyone you wanted to play beauty shop and that YOU cut my hair."

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch.com.