Trauma

Just over a year ago I discovered a shocking secret about my past. Something that I had repressed in the back of my memory. But I have come to accept it, and now I have decided that it is time that I share this.

When I was nine years old I had a mullet.

Yes, my hair was cut in the style that is commonly known as the mullet. Shorter on top, longer at the back.

This hideous fact was discovered when I was staying with some relatives and happened to be browsing through a photo album. Suddenly my gaze was drawn to a picture of me with a mullet. A mullet! A horrible, terrible, mullet!

I have no recollection of ever going to La Maison De La Rose and requesting that my hair be fashioned into a mullet. How did it happen? How could my parents stand idly by and let this happen to me?

My past mullet haunted me, tormented me. It was a haircut that I, that everyone else makes fun of, and I had had one! But salvation was at hand.

While browsing the official website for Shihad, the most rockinest band in Aotearoa, I came across a page of pictures of the band in their early days: mullets galore.

It’s like they were saying “Yeah, we had mullets. So?” Shihad are suck an incredibly rockin’ band that no one can get away with hassling them about their mullets because they rock so much.

They’d moved on, there are no more mullets in Shihad. And so have I. My mullet was gone by the time I was 10.

But now I can look back at my mullet days not with shame, but with acceptance.

Yes, I once had a mullet.

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