It was an unceremonious affair. Driven by the whispies falling in his eyes in the front and the ever-more-pronounced mullet in the back, I took a pair of scissors to his flaxen, silky mane while he was napping.

Clip straight across here, straight across there, and all of a sudden this little boy appeared. Um? Oh my. What have I done?  Where did baby Finn go? I saved those silky, golden whisps.

A token of a babyhood soon to be only a memory.