Cary Goes Grunge
Every year the so-called Generation Gap gets a little wider. In fact sometimes it seems like it should be called the Generation Grand Canyon.
A California pal I've known since kindergarten recently informed me that, after weeks of negotiation, her three-and-a-half-year-old son now sports a mohawk. My friend says it looks super. Her mother, on the other hand, pretty much thinks the exact opposite. I doubt either of us girls even knew what a mohawk was when we were twelve, let alone three-and-a-half. And we've certainly never had one. There's obviously no denying it: The Teenage Rebellion has been taken over by toddlers. And even the rural American barnyard isn't safe.
I really want to assume that the red swipe of raddle marker and splotch of green slime ended up on seven-month-old Cary quite by accident, but with kids these days you never know. And of course I can't help wonder (and worry) what will be next. I can only hope that as we near shearing time next spring she doesn't start negotiating for a full-body mohawk.
A year of Daily Photos ago: Still Life In Farmyard