I was in the store and I saw two little girls. Ashley and Courtney. Both about three or four years old. Courtney says “Look Ashley, scissors” referring to the pair in her hand and alternately, her mouth.
Ashley said, ‘Cut Courtney hair.’
I stopped dead.
Would she actually cut Courtney’s hair or is she one of those bottom feeding humans who never follows thru on the goals they set for themselves?
I stop my cart and I stare.
Now in the back of my mind, I’m wondering how come these two little girls weren’t the least bit concerned about the giant Black woman towering over them. I’m thinking on the side of my mind, “…like little lambs to the slaughter, the way children live in their own world in complete ignorance of wolves and scissor toting siblings. And I’m thinking in the frontal Homer lobe of my brain, “Mmmm, Lamb.”
The hell, I hadn’t eaten all morning.
So I watch Ashley search the aisle for a larger, perhaps even sharper, pair of scissors.
She found them.
She smiled and said “Cut. Courtney. Hair.”
I’m placing bets and secretly hoping that she lops off Courtney’s entire ponytail. Heck, I’d settle for a bald bang area as Ashley puts her fingers inside the scissors. I wonder if I should stop her. I look for a Mom. Mom is nearby. In fact, Mom is standing behind her, but facing the other aisle. Glad to get that offa my conscience. No need to step in with parental unit so close.
Besides, I didn’t want to be intrusive by interfering w/ that delicate Parent/Child relationship.
My guilt assuaged, Ashley reached over and snipped off about two inches of Courtney’s hair. The two inch end of Courtney’s hair fell to the middle of the Crafts aisle.
Ashley screamed, “All Gone!”, as if she had finally finished a plate of green peas placed in front of her. “All Gone!”
I smiled. Her mother, a medium height French woman in her late thirties, turned to see what had gotten Ashley so excited. Her curiosity turned to panic as she saw her 4 yr old with a pair of scissors, panic turned to sheer horror when she saw Courtney’s hair on the floor.
The woman, the nerve of her, looked at me with part suspicion. I think she was wondering why I didn’t stop Ashley. Why I didn’t alert her to the fact that one of her daughters was being given a “Jenny Jones makeover” by the other.
I gave her a blank stare. As she began berating Ashley in French and in some English, I smiled, behind her back of course, as I walked away knowing that I had made the right decision by not alerting the nearest adult of Ashley perceived intentions.
It’s not fair to convict someone of thought crimes. Not even a child. Well, apparently you can under the Patriot Act. But, I seriously doubt that even John Ashcroft would be willing to construe Ashley’s intent to “deprive her sister of her hair” as an act of terrorism. So, if I had tattle-taled, then Ashley might have been punished for an act she might never have completed.
And nobody wants that…not here at Michaels: Arts, Crafts & More…or anywhere in America.
I was happy. Ashley set a goal, voiced it, searched for and acquired the proper tools, considered how best to achieve her goal, voiced her goal again (almost as both a warning to Courtney and an affirmation of her proposed act) and executed a powerful snipping action to complete her goal.
As an enterprising young woman myself, I was proud of her and beamed at the thought of all her unbridled ambitions realized.
If her Mother didn’t crush her spirit first.
The Mother grabbed each child by their now scissorless hands and escorted them both from the store in a huff. Apparently, there would be no spirit crushing today.
After all, it was Ashley’s birthday.
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