How It Feels to Watch Your Son Getting His Hair Cut
In the battered barbershop chair, Faris sits slightly camouflaged and crumpled, as though he is a mystery even to himself.
At no time did I contemplate the realities of parenthood as much as I did on that afternoon when, during a brief moment alone together, I brushed my lips against his now-naked head and whispered my affections. With me was this amazing, miraculous person, and I had helped bring him into the world.
Having a child changes you completely, but most of all it makes you love in a more profound way. I looked at Faris and knew that I wanted to protect him, to pick him up in his low moments and tell him everything would be okay. I wanted to tell him stories from my childhood, share with him my fandom of Tottenham Hotspur, and introduce him to the music of Oasis. Most of all, though, I wanted him to know that he was loved.
More in this series
“My mother’s ‘whiteness’ is disputed, by brown and white people alike, and treated as something to interrogate.”