It all started around 18 months old, when young Major Paul Leatherwood refused to let us near his head with a pair of scissors. Every time the clippers came out, he’d bolt like a greased pig at the Texas State fair. We managed to sneak in a trim up front once, and that was it. The back? Untouched. Free. Wild. Majestic.

At first, we thought, *“He’ll grow out of it.”* But Major Paul had other plans.

By age two, he was strutting into daycare with a baby mullet that turned heads. Other toddlers whispered in awe as he passed — half baby, half country-rock legend. Snack time became autograph time. Naptime? Just a chance to rest that glorious golden waterfall.

One day at the grocery store, a stranger knelt down and asked him, “Are you famous?” He didn’t answer. He just slowly took off his tiny sunglasses and nodded once.

His mullet seemed to have powers. Juice boxes opened easier. He slid faster down slides. The dog stopped barking at squirrels. Coincidence? Maybe. But around here, we call it “Mullet Magic.”

Now, at three years old, it’s not just a haircut — it’s a lifestyle. Business in the front, potty-training party in the back. And truth be told, we’re just along for the ride. The legend of Major Paul’s mullet was born not by design,