A few of my children inherited my peculiar trait of self-conscious extroversion: doing or saying unconventional things, then agonizing about the desired attention.

My shyest son surprised me displaying a theatrical flair during Homecoming Week. On Country Western Day, he meticulously dressed in a grey suit, cowboy hat and boots. When I remarked he may be thematically overdressed, he responded in a practiced accent, "While Ah appreciate the music, don't mistake me for a s***-kicker, ma'am." He reportedly remained in Southern Gentleman character throughout the day, even during a scheduled debate.

My youngest, true to birth order, is the greatest risk-taker, something he often lives to regret. As proof, he requested a barber shop trip yesterday, advancing his Halloween costume. While despising his hair's ginger color and soft curls women envy, for several years he displayed Samson-like pride in its length.

As the costume depends on group involvement, I suggested he first ensure full participation before taking this step. We also investigated wigs. He shook off my concerns. "Geez, Mom, it's only hair."

It would not be the first time a hairdresser approached me as I read Entertainment Weekly, seeking confirmation his fashion sense was parentally acceptable. Once, he wanted his bangs and back "cut into triangles." I believe Yu-Gi-Oh provided some inspiration that year. I shrugged, saying, "It's his hair." She wanted further assurance of no liability, like waiters request when one son orders his steak "very well done" and I say, "It's his food."

So, armed with a photograph of George Peppard chomping a cigar butt, we faced another perplexed stylist. Yes, his planned group costume is recreating The A-Team. While my son complained many contemporaries lacked familiarity, his teachers may experience nostalgia during school costume judging, as long as their presentation excludes simulating vehicle explosions. He already confirmed with the office that he must forgo the cigar, plastic or not.

Immediately after losing several pounds of hair, approximating the Hannibal Smith look, he experienced buyer's remorse. This morning he expressed reluctance attending school prior to Halloween resembling a younger version of himself rather than a 50-something former Special Forces character. I emphasized the white temporary hair dye will age him, with Halloween darkness heightening the effect. Also, humming the theme song will help.

In retrospect, he probably should have cleared the whole costume idea with the mother whose son was tapped to become B.A. Baracus (played by Mr. T, the original King of Bling). His hairstyle is essential to the group identity.