My sister, age five, kindergartener.
My mom had gotten her what my mom thought was an adorable pixie haircut. My sister hated it. She thought she looked like boy. It was made worse by mom's daily attempts to fluff it and make it pretty through the use of a hairdryer and copious amounts of aerosol hairspray. (It was the early 1980s.)
My sister never said a word. Every morning, she arrived at school. She asked to go to the bathroom. Then she stuck her head in the sink and returned to class with her soaking hair plastered to her skull, which, in her estimation, was infinitely better than whatever efforts mom had expended. Her teacher would dry off her head a bit and allow her to take her seat. She didn't say a word to my mom either. It was their little secret for many years.
We're still good friends with the woman who was both my and my sister's kindergarten teacher. I called her that night and told her the raincoat story.
First thing she said was... hey you remember that haircut your sister got?
I'm dying at the story of your sister. Is it really possible that even at age five, kids have the ability to realize their parents aren't perfect?! I thought that lasted until junior high or so...
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