Local girl chops her hair off for Locks of Love

By Xazmin GarzaLAS VEGAS REVIEW-JOURNAL

House phones and cellphones are ringing simultaneously at the Stone family home on this Tuesday afternoon. Stay-at-home mom Lara Stone, dashes from one call to the other in short shorts, a red tank top and worn-in house slippers. School let out less than a week ago, but a nearly finished 750-piece puzzle on the dining room table indicates that boredom has already set in with her kids.

A Nintendo DS has one child, 10-year-old Andy, hypnotized upstairs. Jared, 8, sits on a couch decked out in Duff's Famous Wings gear from a recent trip to Buffalo. He's keeping a close eye on his twin sister Allison, whose head occasionally jerks back from the ambitious stroke of her mom's hairbrush. Lara needs to de-tangle Allison's waist-length hair before hairstylist Victoria Ripley arrives.

It may appear a typical summer day at the Stone house. But, that's only if you consider an 8-year-old sacrificing 10 inches of her own hair to help a child she'll never meet "typical."

"People grow out their hair and give it to Locks of Love and then other people have wigs and it makes them very happy," Allison says, explaining why today's isn't just any haircut.

She's not a Locks of Love novice, either. At age 5 she also made a donation to the organization that provides prosthetic hairpieces to financially disadvantaged kids with hair loss. Today she's repeating the process and couldn't come off any less phased by it.

Does she consider chopping her locks from her belt loops to her collarbone the ultimate sacrifice? "No, not really," Allison says, pushing up her purple glasses and shrugging her shoulders.

She's more concerned with catching a new episode of "iCarly," winning her next family game of Apples to Apples, or nailing her ballet recital.

Her nonchalance doesn't surprise Lauren Kukkamaa one bit. The communications director for Locks of Love says 80 percent of their donations derive from young children who don't think twice about the gesture.

"They learn about giving of themselves and latch onto that notion. It's something they can do that they don't need a checkbook for," she says. "They think, 'That's all I have to do is give hair?' "

Yep, that's all they have to do: Whack 10 inches of unprocessed hair from their head and change someone's life. It's the unprocessed part that makes it difficult for adults to donate. That and the fact most women with 10 expendable inches of hair either wouldn't dream of cutting it or prefer to do it several small inches at a time.

"It's more of an identity for us as we get older," Kukkamaa says.

Kids don't put much importance in hair -- until they've lost it. Then it consumes their thoughts and burdens their lives. Whether it's the cheerleader with alopecia from the northwest who has to run for cover when it rains so her synthetic wig doesn't frizz up or the 10-year-old chemo patient who avoids slumber parties out of fear her wig will come off in her sleep, hair loss prevents kids from being kids.

That's where Locks of Love comes in. Its hairpieces are designed specifically to recipients' scalp measurements. A vacuum seal, not tape or glue, ensures a secure fit. A hard tug won't pull them off and they do just fine in swimming pools. The organization lets kids worry about important things, like beating their brothers at checkers.

At least that's what Allison's consumed with just minutes before Ripley snaps a salon smock around her neck. Jared insists she's never beaten him. She begs to differ. While they volley back and forth in a game of "have too" "have not," Ripley gets her cutting station ready in the kitchen.

Beach towels serve as catching mitts for falling locks and her comb makes for a nice measuring stick. Wearing a shirt covered in peace and love symbols, Allison takes to the make-do salon chair in the kitchen. Her hair gets sprayed down and separated into two neat ponytails at the nape of her neck.
"Are you about ready?" Ripley asks.

"Wait. What's gonna happen now?" wonders Allison.

Once she's informed a couple quick snips will forever separate those 10 inches of hair from her head, Allison nods her head yes and closes her eyes.

Soon enough she's staring at the severed ponytails on her kitchen counter, next to the paper basket Jared handmade his dad for Father's Day. Her mother will send them off this afternoon. She just needs a Ziploc bag and the form she downloaded from the Locks of Love website to complete the mission.

Allison waited a long time for this. Now that the big event has come and gone, she's not so sure she'll make it a Locks of Love threepeat. She tells "Mommy" she's sad her hair is gone. The significance of the three years it took to grow it is finally setting in.

"I'm gonna be in sixth grade when I can cut it again," she says. "Sixth grade!"

As the longevity hits her, Jared checks his sister's math in his head and then corrects her out loud: "Actually, I think you'll be in seventh," he says.

Lara reminds Allison of the kids she's helping and that it's just hair. Her daughter takes a minute to think about it as her hair gets blown dry.

Helping others isn't a foreign concept in this house. When her parents throw holiday parties they ask guests to bring toys for less fortunate kids instead of gifts for them. And, Allison's school uses national and global disasters to educate students on the value of giving.

The 8-year-old pipes up. It seems she's had a change of heart on her previous change of heart.

"Even though when I was little I wanted long hair, but now I know hair can grow," she says. "It's a nice thing to do. I'll keep doing it. I'll try."