The first six or seven (teen) times it happened I let it slide. But somewhere around the hundredth time somebody said to me, “What a cute little girl you have,” I realized I was going to have to do something if I wanted people to know my cute little girl was, in fact, a boy.

First things first, I decided to stop dressing him in Dora the Explorer clothing. Next, I taught him how to smoke. (Now before you start freaking out I know exactly what you’re thinking and you’re right, it IS hard to teach a kid how to light a match.) And finally, I decided the boy needed to get his first haircut.

But not before I shed a tear or two.

You know how some parents live vicariously through their kids? Like, they force them to play the piano or practice free throws six hours a day or make me perform that one-man play titled: “99 percent effective. Yeah, right. Thanks a lot, Trojan.” Or, um, you know, some other completely hypothetical example like that?

Yeah, well, I live vicariously through my kid’s hair. As a man in his late 30s who is losing the battle to the Follicle Gods (I keep trying to tell people the “Friar Tuck” is totally going to make a comeback), I envy the heck out of my son’s locks. (Also, his lochs; his great-grandmother left him some property in Scotland, and boy am I jealous because it is so gorgeous this time of year.) It’s all long and blond and curly, whereas mine is just kinda short, graying and patchy. So to cut even an inch off the end of his mane seems criminal. Eh, the point is cutting my son’s hair was a hard pill to swallow but in the end I knew it was just the thing he needed to reclaim his masculinity.

Now if you’ve already gone through this magical yet nerve-racking moment in your child’s life (or as dads like to refer to it: “yet another thing to have to take pictures of”) you know that the following equation, much like that theorem that Pythagoras came up with that I can’t ever remember the name of, is always true: Small child + scissors = $52 plus tip.

Just kidding! (Not really.) What I’m actually trying to say is sharp objects around your kid’s face don’t usually lead to good things. But fortunately for us, our son was a perfect angel during his first haircut and couldn’t have been better behaved. (“Thanks Ambien!”)

Since having his perfect ‘do’ cropped just a few days ago, he hasn’t been mistaken for a little girl once. Which is great because it leaves his mom and me time to focus on more important things in life.

Like finding him a playground with a smoking lounge.

Bryce Donovan is a freelance dad who also occasionally writes. Get a glimpse into his daily life at www.brycedonovan.com. Email him at bryce@brycedonovan.com.