Bennett and the Late-Blooming Mullet

When Bennett was born, he didn’t have a single hair on his head.
Not a wisp. Not a fuzz. Bald as a peeled peach.

Family joked, “He’ll grow into it,” and Mama smiled, holding that shiny-headed baby close, whispering, “Take your time, baby boy.”

And oh, he did.

For months, nothing. Then one day, around his first birthday, a little patch popped up right at the back of his head. Just a few soft strands, curling like they had somewhere to be.

Then came more—slowly, sneakily, only in the back.

Up front? Still smooth as ever.

By the time Bennett was two, it was official:
Business in the front. Party in the back.
The boy had grown himself a mullet.

Not just any mullet—his mullet.

Mama reached for the scissors once. Just once.
But Bennett spun around, eyes wide.
“No cut my curls!” he declared.

He’d race down the hallway, curls flying behind him like a superhero cape. Every breeze, every bath, every bounce on the couch made those curls dance. And he loves them—fiercely.

And from that day on, the scissors stayed away—
because some legends grow slow…
but when they arrive,
they show up in style.