The Fohawk has been long gone...
Though Zenas still insists on keeping his father's hairline, the hairs that are on his head have grown too long to stand up. His hairs are the baby fine, spiderweb-like strands of smooth and sturdy silk. The color has darkened beyond the golden hue of milk caramel to that more of burnt sugar. The natural punk look is no more; in its place is a style too unkempt to be referred to as any special coiffure. The hairs keep falling flat down into his face, in scattered squiggles over his forehead, too wispy and separate to look any different than an accident. I caught myself with a new habit of pushing the hairs to one side or another as to give a more combed look, mostly because I feel itchy to look at him, or "uttoushi" as they say in Japanese.
The new hair also offers up some fun: Chris and I play around with various combings and title each affectionately.