The Other Mohawk Guy

This past summer I bribed our teenage sons, Tanner and Saxon, with extra computer time if they guest-wrote for our family blog. I hoped blogging might help offset the dreaded summer brain drain.  This is Saxon’s first—and probably last—contribution. 


“Mow’n all the Way”

    It was yesterday when I got a mohawk.  My mom just had to get highlights and a spray tan for her high school’s 30th reunion.  She was about to leave for her session when I asked, “Do you think I could get my mohawk after you’re done?”  She called Chris, her hairstylist, to see if he could fit me in.  He replied yes, and we sped down to Maddox Kai, the hair salon, to get our ‘dos done.

While my mom got her hair all sun kissed , the time went by so slow.  So I got out my Ipod and played a little Jet Pack Joyride. Sooner or later I was up! As I got in  the chair, he started buzzing off my hair in a movement like mowing the lawn.  It felt great! Chris was asking me if I was going to spike it up, dye it, etc.  He got out hair supplies and buzzed here, snipped there there, sprayed everywhere, and POOF, I was done!  I looked fantastic!

My mom and I thanked Chris many times, then finally got into the car.  When we were driving back I was thinking, Gosh, my grandma is gonna kill me!  I would probably give her a heart attack if she saw me like this.  She freaked out when I had long hair, but a mohawk, uh-oh.  All summer I been rocking a Hawaiian/Rasta look, but as soon as I got in the car I took off my pukka shell necklace because it clashed with my mohawk. Next, I think I’ll ask my mom if I can get ear plugs.

By Saxon

Editor’s note: Sax, if you even THINK about getting ear plug gauges, you’ll be grounded for life. I’m cool, but not that cool.