More than ten years ago our three daughters: Chelsea, Craven, and Caroline, decided to do something charitable, a selfless act that would give joy to sick children. And all they had to do was grow their hair for a year, then cut it. I mean really cut it. Caroline was in elementary school, Craven in middle school, and Chelsea in high school. Now they are 19, 23 and 27…practically grown-ups. I still think it’s one of the coolest things they’ve ever done.
That same Christmas I wrote a poem in the style of Clement Moore’s “The Night Before Christmas.” I hope you enjoy it.
The Night Before Haircuts
The night before haircuts and all through the house, the Poole girls were singing and flitting about. They were not snuggled all down in their beds. Instead, they were nervously washing their heads. Mom wrapping presents and dad working late, were filled with unease, the “dos” might look…not great.
So, the next morning the alarm clock sang Briiinngg! The two jumped from bed and quickly took wing up to the girl’s rooms, “Good Mornings” to sing. When what to their wondering eyes would appear but three princesses dozing…one showing her rear. Dad kissed and mom cooed speaking low in their ears, “Today’s the big day for our little dears. You will sit in the chair, a last look at your locks, then with Sue’s magic scissors, Ta Da! It’s all chopped.”
More rapid than eagles the children they came. Dad hooted, hollered, and called them by name. Now Chelsea, Craven, and Caroline too, sit up to the table for waffles…now chew! They slid to their chairs. Dad blew a loud whistle. Each sucked the food down like a new upright Bissell. They finished their breakfasts and tore to their rooms, each brushing her braces, dad’s truck to leave soon.
Away at Saint David’s with backpacks in tow, they sat in their classrooms; the clocks ever so slow. They spoke not a word when the school bell rang Briiinngg! but climbed to their seats in mom’s Chevrolet king. They sped through the town. They could not be late. What a big day, a life altering date! They waited a year, without hesitation, to grow their hair lengthy beyond expectation.
One by one in the chair each looking most coy, they had their hair sheared for a girl or a boy. Alas, Cancer, you see, has left children without any curls to admire, no hair to comb out. And so on that day, a day like any other, our girls gave their locks for a sister or brother. Three gifts of shear love and unselfish delight;
Merry Christmas dear children,
May you each win your fight!