"I need to work on my posture. You need to call me out if I'm slouching," your dad said. And then he realized that he didn't have to slouch to hold your hand anymore. You continue to grow up. You reach up, wrap your hand around his index finger, and walk completely unaided. You haven't had to hold your dad's hand for months; you just like to, once in a while now.
Your dad straightened his shoulders and saw his dim reflection in a store window. It was time to cut his curly hair. He simply grew it out to see if he could do it. To see if it was actually curly, because he didn't know. Your dad's mom, lola, cut and saved your dad's curly hair from when he was a toddler himself. Ever since, your dad's hair has been trimmed short, perhaps not cropped too close, not until the Navy anyway, but short. In high school he when he went through an ill-advised set of mullets utilizing blow dryers, Aqua Net, and the occasional ponytail.
Really your dad grew out his hair to see how curly it was compared to yours. With his hair close-cropped, like he's worn it since his Navy days, people did double takes when you were with him. Perhaps that's his child, or perhaps not, people thought. Best not to say anything.
But after he grew his curls out, people confidently said, "I see. Your daughter got your hair and her mother's hair color." The "I see" part of their statement meant that the question was lingering for a while. It was up in the air. But now that was settled.
Your dad got a haircut today for the first time in half a year. He over-tipped the hair stylist.
