Beka's Hair

I learned the hard way why there are stupid warnings on many items on the market today. Because stupid things happen. To all of us.

I was minding my own business, in my room, trying to accomplish something, when I heard screams from the little girl of the family.

They were loud screams, but not the kind of screams where blood is involved. I also figured it was a lone ranger incident; it didn't sound like a fight between siblings. It sounded serious, but not urgent. I got up and began walking down the hallway to investigate.

When the little girl screams were joined with big brother yells, my curiosity was fully aroused. They weren't the "I just got hit by my brother" or "My sister just hit me back" kinda' screams. The boy was screaming at me to hurry. I could not categorize the other sounds into anything familiar. I was stumped.

I came into the living room to discover the boy pulling the big, industrial, medical vibrating thing from the sister's hair. Pulling, while yelling at me to deal with the situation. I told them both to calm down and stop screaming. Then, taking full advantage of my superior maternal knowledge, I began instructing my son, in my best lecturing voice, in what he SHOULD HAVE done instead of yelling at me and pulling the machine with Beka's hair wrapped around the motor.

I made him unplug the machine and shows him how the strands needed to be unwrapped, not jerked off. After a few minutes, my arms were tired and I was considering just chopping off the hair and getting it over with. But, her hair is so pretty and took so long to grow out, so I figured we better try a little harder.


Bethany joined us for the Hair Recovery Project.

Very carefully, she pulled out the hair strand by strand, saving much more hair that I would have been able to save.

She worked carefully, then cut the few remaining pieces that refused to unwind. We comforted Rebekah, wiped her tears and combed out her hair with the missing chunk.



I lectured the boy, again, on how to handle crisis situations, strongly admonishing that yelling never helped anything. I exhorted him to think rationally and learn how to handle trauma without panic.

As I smugly walked back down the hall, longing for the quietness of my room, I was a little convicted. More than a little. If yelling never helped anything, then why do I still do it? Why can parenting end up being more, "Do what I say, not do what I do?"

Matthew 7:2-4
2 For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged,

3 Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?

4 How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?


Excuse me, I have to go pull a plank out of my eye.