"Is my hair dicked up?" she asked, as she took off her helmet. Yes, she said that. And yes, she learned it from me. We were in the desert, our little family of four, literally miles from civilization. And yet, here she was, worried about her hair. We had been riding dune buggies for hours, our cheeks ripped raw from the wind, our faces caked in trails we had just crossed. There wasn't another person from us to the horizon, but none of that mattered. Clara needed to have her shit together.
(For the record, her hair was super dicked up, but I wasn't going to be the one to tell her.)
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From the time she could dress herself, Clara Josephine Lorenzo has been obsessed with her appearance. Not worried about it, obsessed with it. If there was ever a concern that she would be lost in her sister's shadow, Clara's sheer existence ensured that never happened. She has spent hours rifling through my closet, trying on my shoes, twirling in my dresses, and wearing my lipstick like she's about to head out for a night on the town. And I let her. I always let her.
Morgan never loved to be fancy the way Clara does. In fact, Morgan has never been one to put herself in the spotlight. Where Morgan prides herself on staying behind the scenes, Clara will pick center stage. Every. Single. Time. People like to tease me that Clara is just like me. My "mini me" they like to say. Except she's not. She IS me. All of my sass, my wit, my confidence, squeezed into the body of a soon-to-be seven year old. She is too much. And I love it. All of it. Even on the nights when we both lose our shit and I threaten to take away her birthday (yep, did that just last week), and especially on the days when she is faced with a moment that defines her character. And she handles it like a boss.
One of those moments happened this spring, shortly after Clara made the bold decision to cut off all her hair. In the spirit of full disclosure, Clara's motives may have had less to with fashion and more to do with me not brushing her hair, but it was still a bold move. Now, Clara has a number of bad ass role models with short hair, but yet, I worried. I know the "rules" about gender norms, and I know the expectations regarding little girls with pigtails and fancy dresses. And I know Clara could give two shits about all of that. But even in 1st Grade, kids are mean. Girls are mean.
Ultimately, her haircut was an impromptu decision. David was out of town, and Great Clips was closing in 30 minutes. It was a Saturday night, and Clara absolutely NEEDED her new look for school on Monday. And so we did it, all of it. Gone. Not one bit of hesitation. And it was glorious. And so we celebrated. With lip gloss and French fries. The way classy bitches do.
She arrived at school that Monday, with her new hair and her fanciest boots, and paraded her little self up and down the halls. If that child had a sash and bouquet, she would have taken those, too. Because Clara Josephine Lorenzo had arrived.
But her joy was short-lived. She appeared in David's classroom that afternoon, shoulders slumped, the spark clearly gone from her eyes. What was once a deliberate strut has disintegrated into a meek slink, her confidence clearly rattled.
"What happened, baby girl?"
"A girl was mean to me today, and now we're not friends."
"What happened?" (Note to the reader: David may have asked his question with all the world's diplomacy, but I can assure you he was ready to fight that chick at the monkey bars.)
"She told me she doesn't like girls with short hair, and she told everyone else not to like me, either."
Of course, the two of them are relaying this story to me over dinner, voices raised to a fever pitch, each of them talking over the other in the hopes of getting to the key points faster. Fortunately for Clara, anyone who knows David also knows he is the world's worst story teller, and was easily outgunned. Clara's cheeks were flushed, her breathing heavy, as she shared this moment of trauma.
"So, how did you handle it?" I asked. I could feel my own throat tightening, suppressing the urge to get in the car and go find the little shit who killed my daughter's spirit.
"I told her I still wanted to be her friend, and that she made me sad."
"Well, do you still like your hair, or did this make you regret cutting it?"
"OH, NO! I love my hair, mom. It looks amazing!"
Yes, yes it absolutely does. I hope the world is ready for you, Clara Josephine. And may everyone forever see you the way you see yourself. And may you always be the lightest of lights. The force among forces, the spirit among spirits. You remind me every day to be a bad ass. Even when my hair's dicked up.
