Kindest cut of all

For one year, McKenna Friedman has been waiting for this day. And now her parents, John and Marlene, have to make good on their promise because for a 6-year-old girl “one year seems like forever,” says McKenna, sitting in a Thousand Oaks hair salon, eager to get to the business of lopping off her gorgeous, waist-length brown locks.

“Now, you’re sure you want to do this, honey?” asks stylist Melody Martin.

McKenna’s been sure since last summer when she wanted to go shorter, but her mom hatched a plan for her daughter’s hair, one that would illustrate a lesson in giving. “I brought up the idea of McKenna donating her hair to a child that had maybe lost her hair because of an illness. ‘Wouldn’t that be a nice thing to do for another kid?’ ” Marlene had asked.

McKenna thought so too. The pair decided that Wigs for Kids, a not-for-profit group based in Rocky River, Ohio, would be the recipient of McKenna’s silky hair. The organization, which mother and daughter researched on the Internet at home in Westlake Village, creates wigs for children who have lost their hair due to illness, burns and chemotherapy.

“I know that some moms would rather keep their little girl’s hair when that decision is made to cut it, but I feel like I don’t need to keep a lock of her hair. I’d rather it go to help another child.”

McKenna is in full agreement. “I’ll know that some little girl out there has a wig that’s made with real hair, not fake hair. Well, really, it will be my hair and that makes me feel good.”

At the salon, McKenna is eager to get started.

“OK, then, let’s get this head wet,” says Martin.

McKenna skips toward the shampoo sink, settles in and gets soaked.

With his video camera rolling, John captures the moment -- clearly a happy one for his daughter, and an emotional one for him. In a matter of minutes, McKenna will lose 15 inches of the very hair that he loves to brush into ponytails.

McKenna, a kindergartener at White Oak Elementary, can’t wait to show off her clipped style at school, where most of the girls, including her best friend, Kendra, have long hair.

As friends heard about McKenna’s decision, and news like this travels fast in kindergarten, other mothers have approached Marlene, curious about the haircut. Marlene says she’s been most surprised by those who ask, “ ‘How much money do you get for hair like that?’ I have to tell them, ‘We’re not doing this for money, you know.’ I just think there’s a bigger lesson to be learned by everyone with McKenna’s example.”

McKenna says her friends gasp at the thought of having short hair. “My best friend went like this: ‘Oh n-o-o-o-o-o-o, I wouldn’t cut my hair. My daddy wouldn’t let me.’ ” But McKenna figures that with short hair she’ll have much more free time this summer to enjoy bike riding, the Daisy Girl Scouts, her hip-hop dancing classes and swimming.

“I’m really good at diving,” she says, “and having short hair means I won’t have to wear a swimmer’s cap. I hate those things.”

Still, is there anything she’ll miss about her long hair?

“Hmm,” she says, sitting on a sofa, her chin resting on her hands. After a long pause -- one of those kid pauses that include giggles, a sneeze, swinging her legs and being interrupted by baby brother banging a toy truck on a nearby table -- she decides she’ll miss ponytails.

But not because ponytails are a thing of beauty, she explains. “Because my daddy makes my ponytails. He’s the ponytail king. Do you know that he can put five ponytails on my head?” Her wet hair pulled back and tied in a ponytail, McKenna’s moment has arrived. Marlene paces, Aaron in her arms. John hides behind his video camera, zooming in for a close-up of the 12 snip, snip, snips from the scissors in Martin’s hand. In less than 30 seconds the deed is done.

“There you have it,” says Martin handing over the giant lock of hair to her smiling client. No tears, no second thoughts. In a matter of minutes the new style is blown dry and McKenna is hugging her daddy.

“She looks older,” John says out loud, to no one in particular. “Unfortunately, my little girl is growing up,” he adds and then freezes in thought, maybe flashing to the future: McKenna in high school, in college, a career, married with kids of her own.

Then comes a tug at his belt.

“Hold me, Daddy,” McKenna says, looking up.

He sweeps her into his arms. “You’re still my little girl,” he says. For now, that’s all that matters.