When my stepson, Rory, was 14½ years old, he asked if he could get a Mohawk haircut. Maggie and I had only married a week or two before and were still feeling relatively benevolent towards the world, so I got out the clippers and obliged.
A few days later when he asked if he could dye it green, we thought that was taking it bit too far at his age and said no. He wasn’t too happy about our decision. Later we found out that he’d won a few quid with a bet about being allowed to get the Mohawk, but had then lost it when we refused to let him colour it.
My stepdaughter, Holly, was 17 years old when she decided she wanted a Mohawk. Once again I brought out the clippers. I think I re-trimmed the sides for her a few times before she eventually let it grow out.
I’ve been cutting Rogan’s hair since he was 3 years old (see the 2nd half of "Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow"), and pretty much every time I’ve brought out the clippers I’ve said, "Do you want a Mohawk then?"
This has always been met with a sigh, a roll of the eyes or a, "Will you stop saying that Dad!"
So when a few days ago Rogan asked me if I would give him a Mohawk this weekend, I thought he was joking. Turned out he wasn’t.
It’s been 10 years since I last created one, but fortunately I still have a steady hand.
Now we just have to wait for the reaction from school and his workplace...