The Before: The After: When I became a father, one of the battles I swore to myself I’d never wage was over hair. A friend of mine's son made hideous teenage hair choices, but his mother once said to me, “My mother made such a big deal of my hair I swore I’d never do the same to my kids.” I adopted that philosophy. My mom and I went round and round about my hair so very many times. She wanted me to remain the all-American Tom Sawyer with the neatest side part and feathery 1980’s ‘do. But when I hit junior high and discovered blow-dryers and MTV, I follicly rebelled. I wanted Johnny-Depp-21-Jumpstreet hair. That meant much fuller and longer than Mom’s Eisenhower-June-Cleaver standards tolerated. So we fought for years about my hair. Yesterday, my 5yo had a bout with a pair of scissors and gave himself a haircut. I’m still apoplectic about it. Yes, I know self-inflicted hair disasters are a rite of passage for all children. As my partner said, “the only …