A Wise Boy's Sacrifice
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"Dad, do I have to get my haircut?"

I looked down at my eight-year-old son then, his dark hair and a tangle around his ears. "It's so long, why don't you want to cut it?"

He blushed and looked away from me.

"Spence... " I knelt down beside him, the flow of people in the mall parting around us.

"Yeah, dad?" He asks, his eyes a meeting mine with shimmering un-shed tears.

"Why don't you want to cut your hair son?"

Spencer sniffled, "I just want to not cut it."

I continue to stare at him, and eventually, he fidgeted uncomfortably and began again to speak. "Grandma needs it. She's sick."

This was the last thing I expected him to say. "Wait, Spence, tell me what you mean?"


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