A Hair Razing Experience

There was no time to acclimate to the new time zone. Call time was 9:30 am, so my son, the actor would not be sleeping in, as his nocturnal clock would request of him. The day was slated or preparation activities: physical, wardrobe, haircut . . .

HAIRCUT??

I'd forewarned him ~ but I'm his mother. There are only so many mental notes a teen boy is willing to take from his mom. His manager had warned him. Evidently he'd listened to her. The task item on the list did not outwardly appear to phase him in the least.

I wondered how he'd react. His signature curls were important to him as of late.

When we arrived at the production office, the cavernous mouth of a warehouse greeted us. An old Ford pickup truck, school buses, a plywood platform: Room 1. A bevy of new faces and names. Rack after rack after rack of era clothing, standing next to a storage area of old desks, and next to that - steel works in various stages of development: Room 2. More faces. More names. Handshakes and smiles.

The star of the show.

The lad was non-descript by day to day standards. If one didn't know he were the star, one might miss him in a crowd of teen boys. The Aussie, gathering a handful of potato chips, flashed a grin as wide as the Mississippi river, and betrayed his age by the gangly manner with which he attempted social graces when his mind was really on the food in front of him. He and The Actor hit it off immediately, a knowing connection forming the two of them instantaneously into fast friends in the blink of an eye.

No time to chat. We were led through the organized chaos to yet another room, where even more hustle and bustle greeted us.

And then, he was whisked off.

Keller and I took up residence at a nearby table-turned-staging-area and waited.

When my son reappeared, I squealed with delight! The more-rugged lines of his face were now very apparent. The slight scar on his upper lip framed by a unique blend of baby face and handsome. His ear with the characteristic rim in full view.

I drank him in with my eyes, and captured the moment on my heart. The haircut poignantly displayed for me that my little boy was transforming into a man: right before my eyes.

Without further ado, The Actor was asked to step inside the makeshift dressing room. Plaid curtains sectioned off a corner behind numerous rows of even more clothing, all vintage. Here, behind the curtain, my son would spend the next. four. hours.

Yes.

I said FOUR hours.

FOUR.

Four.

Let's be honest Moms of Teen Boys. Attempting to get your son to shop with you for 20 minutes . . . let alone an hour is like pulling teeth, right?

Right.

Well.

Let me just say. At hour 3.25, one of the Wardrobe Ladies gave a shout out to me:

"Is your boy always this entertaining?" she queried.

I raised my eyebrow, and looked her in the eye: "It's constant." I returned. Meaning of course, the stream-of-consciousness non-stop chatter that spews forth that for the most part, I tune out.

Then it hit me.

I had tuned him out.

He had been talking non-stop. For three and one-quarter hours.

I groaned inwardly, and tiptoed up to the curtain. "I'm really sorry. I just realized you must be absolutely weary with his antics!" I offered.

Her eyes were bright as she turned to me. "Are you kidding? I haven't laughed this much in a long time ~ nothing short of refreshing! Fun! I love it!" she said, nonplussed.

I grinned inwardly. How refreshing, indeed.

The few glimpses I obtained of my son in period costume were thrilling my heart. The haircut was snazzy. The clothing pristine. The era a woebegone day that I suddenly pined for.

****

As the close of four hours of wardrobe descended, so did the knowledge of an historic moment, that of Michael Jackson's death.

All the activity of putting together a show stopped short. The sewing machine stopped. The ironing ceased. Pins and hangers were put down, in trade for blackberries and iphones and phone calls.

It was eerie, surreal, and none could wrap their brain around what they'd just heard.

So My Son, The Actor and I returned to our little home away from home. He was suddenly, inexplicably weary. I turned inward to contemplate the news reports.

Day One was complete, and it was a doozy.

******