The silver gleam made a reflection on the dry wall closest to my pink bed. I was prepared, I had placed the miniature trashcan meticulously between my Indian-style crossed legs because my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Cooper said that’s how you sit when you are ready to work or ready to listen. I wasn’t listening, in fact you could say I was doing exactly the opposite; but that didn’t seem to slow my focused and determined mind from the task at hand.

I steadied myself, tiny fingers willing themselves to be in control of the oblong fabric scissors. Then Sleeeth, the Barbie’s hair began to float wistfully into the can, each blonde strand as graceful as a snowflake dwindling from the gray sky, just as the ones outside my window made the same journey toward the earth. The hair like the snowflakes drifted peacefully, each finding its final destination among others. These strands weren’t quite like the snowflakes because they lacked the one quality I loved most, uniqueness. The uniformly blonde strands settled like pine needles in a small pile in the center of the metal can.

The preliminary haircut on Barbie was a success I decided, while analyzing the section  “trimmed”. My chubby hands, with dimples for knuckles, delicately placed her on the carpet next to her silicone twins. That’s when I noticed, these Barbies weren’t at all alike anymore. Sure, they shared the same blank blue-eyed stare and glossy long legs, but with a chunk of hair lobbed off on one side this Barbie no longer had the camouflage of her usual crew. Her new separateness drew the eye in for a closer look and she was unique enough to maintain a tight hold on your gaze.

That’s what I wanted: beauty achieved by individuality. Now it was my turn, my chance to stand out, my time to separate myself from my peers and thus be beautiful in a way that would be completely my own. In the mind of a young girl this event could change all that existed in a kindergartener’s little social sphere. So without further hesitation or pondering, those same chubby fingers snatched up the “shishors” and with surety in the previously practiced motions swiftly clutched a golden-brown mess of curls. The ends sprouting from the bottom of my miniature fist each curl spewing, reaching for an escape in a million directions.

Looking for the most drastic change I positioned the shears near the roots, close to my forehead. Before my brain could register what had happened the spiraled locks found their way into the small trash can, and with my realization that it was finished the scissors found the same destination with a resounding metallic clang.  That’s when the uneasiness began to settle in and my stomach started to churn. My determined mind had not allowed me to even question the consequences of my little haircut. I antecedently assumed that my mom and dad would love the unique styling as much as I did.

How did I know if I loved it or even liked it? I hadn’t seen my own work yet. Racing down the hall each stride  filled with excitement and a tinge of anxiety. Arms pumping, heartbeat flying, eyes ready to fixate on the bathroom mirror. Slam, the door closed behind me and the lights jolt awake while I mounted my Winnie the Pooh step-stool. Slightly apprehensive yet bubbly with sheer elation I looked up from my small wiggling toes to the edge of the granite-lined sink and finally directly into my own eyes.

I had always known I was different from the other kids but now everyone could see it, this had become an outward representation of internal qualities I possessed as an individual. I still had the same warm hazel eyes, sun-kissed freckles, and button nose, but I had a little less of that curly mane that usually hugged my meager jaw-line. Barbie and I had undergone the same process and I had been just like all my friends wearing the same light-up minnie mouse sneakers and rocking the pink scrunchies.

Now, I was a contrasting piece of the puzzle. Everyone I knew had their uniform corners and sloped curves, not necessarily the same but similar to each other. I had not only diversified myself from the other pieces but I had made my own puzzle and set a new standard for myself: a standard that I was confident in upholding. I was distinct, even if that meant being a bit peculiar. Little did I know, that standard and my inherent love for diversity would guide decisions throughout my life, and it all started with a haircut.