I work with young adults who have mental health disorders. For many of them, you can't tell that there is anything wrong with them. Perhaps they might seem a little different, but you really wouldn't be able to tell. And then there are the precious few souls for whom it is rather obvious that they are not well. They are really the sweetest people on earth. They are also the most stubborn, and the ones who make you want to laugh (hopefully in a non-condescending sort of way) the most at the things they do.
Let me tell you a little story about a young man that I will call Plucky. (This is, obviously, not his name, or nickname.) Plucky has been trying to grow his hair out for a while, refusing to have it cut because he wanted it to grow out long. His hair is rather coarse and slightly curly; he doesn't use gel, so the effect is that he has a bit of a fro (or as much of a fro as a white kid can have). Well, last Thursday I came in to work and saw Plucky in the hall. I said good morning to him, and he said hi to me. I looked at him close and noticed that his hair looked less fro-y, so I asked him if he got his hair cut. He gave me this sort of sneaky look, and then laughed really loudly at me. Then he walked away. As he was walking away, I looked at the back of his head and realized that Plucky had given HIMSELF a haircut. But it wasn't an all-over haircut. He had, apparently, grabbed a chunk of hair at the back of his head, nearish his neck, and chopped it off. So there was a huge chunk of hair missing from the poor boy's fro.
Needless to say, Plucky looked ridiculous. I spent the rest of the day trying to convince him to agree that he needed a haircut. He would yell at me, in a sort of laughing way, and tell me that he liked it. "Okay, fine. I'll just let him walk around with chunky hair for a while, and see if he really does like it," I thought. Friday I came in to work and mentioned it to Plucky again. He gave me a maybe--but only after I promised him that hair grows faster when you get it trimmed regularly. Unfortunately I didn't bring my haircutting scissors Friday, so I made a mental note to bring them Monday. I brought them, but got successive refusals from Plucky on both Monday and Tuesday. Then finally today, when Plucky came to talk to me about something totally unrelated, I mentioned a haircut again. He got a kind of squinty look in his eye, then said that he couldn't remember if it was a dream or something that really happened, but he had thought that he wanted me to cut his hair. Good enough for me! To the kitchen we went, with me wielding a dollar-store comb and my haircutting scissors. Now, I have never taken a haircutting class in my life. The little I know about cutting hair I learned from watching my mom, and trimming my own bangs (but only occasionally). But, honestly, anything would be better than having a huge chunk missing, right? Well, Plucky's hair is super coarse and randomly curly, so it was a little hard to tell; plus I didn't want to take off too much, because he wanted it "long." In the end, it turned out alright, although I did manage to cut myself with the scissors. I'm such a dork. At least I didn't cut him, though.
He went to check it in the bathroom, and came back to yell at me that he liked it. It's still a fro, just less huge and without a chunk missing, but what can you do? I don't think even a professional hairstylist could tame his hair. I'll take a look at it tomorrow and double check to see if I missed any spots or whatnot. But it's probably the most satisfactory haircut that I'll ever give, because it took so much patience for me to be able to convince him to let anyone touch his head in the first place.
