The first haircut ranks high on a little boy’s list of Big Deals. But for Gianni Fontenault, who turns 2 next month, the barber’s chair will be a scene of dramatic reinvention. Gianni has more hair, every bit of it curly, than any child his age you’ll likely ever meet. By sight, if not by weight, it seems to be a third of him.

His parents, Nicole and Keith, prepare him at home in the traditional way: with a bribe, a dress rehearsal and a motivational talk that is, by necessity, a well-intentioned deception.

Besides trepidation, one can only imagine what Gianni is thinking as the minutes tick down to his 5 p.m. appointment. Ordinarily chatty, the boy is mute. He senses bad doings in the air.

“You gonna go get your hair cut?” Keith asks as he cradles his son on his lap in the living room of the Fontenault’s Warwick residence.

The boy does not answer.

“Wanna go for a ride on the motorcycle later?”

In normal circumstances, Gianni enjoys little neighborhood tootles on Dad’s 1,000-cc Honda, which Gianni calls a “vroom-vroom.” But the boy does not answer.

“When he was born,” Nicole says, “he had straight black hair and it all fell out when he was about six months old. And it came back this way –– curly and lighter.”

She straightens her own hair now, but Nicole’s was like her son’s once.

“There’s actually a picture of me when I was little –– probably like 2 or 3 –– and he thinks it’s him in the picture,” she says. At Gianni’s age, photography can confuse.

Nicole disappears into another room, followed by Gianni, who wears denim shorts and a favorite Red Sox shirt in honor of the occasion. When they return, the boy is carrying a brush and his mother holds a bottle of detangler, which the Fontenaults must surely buy in bulk. Gianni sits on his father’s lap. Keith brushes. Nicole sprays. Gianni squirms. Gianni giggles. Keith re-offers the bribe, but the situation is ticklish.

“That’s all right, buddy, we’re going to get the knots out,” Nicole says. It will make things easier for the barber, Robert Cunetta, a.k.a. Bobby C., who cuts Keith’s hair.

“You don’t want Bobby to do it,” Keith says.

The threat achieves nothing. Gianni squirms and squirms.

“You wanna spray?” Nicole says.

Gianni takes the bottle. He sprays himself in the face.

Nicole repossesses the bottle.

“Let Daddy spray a little,” she says. “You need it on the back. You look like Bozo.”

Gianni gets the bottle and sprays a wall. Keith intervenes and resumes brushing. Gianni cries, not for the last time today.

“You’re going to have to toughen up here, buddy,” Keith says. This is not easy for anyone: Gianni’s hair is thick enough to hide a sparrow.

“Good job,” Nicole says. “All done.”

“All done!” Gianni says.

If only.

Bobby C. greets the Fontenaults at his barbershop on Warwick Avenue, a short drive away. Gianni is apprehensive the instant the door closes.

“You wanna sit with him?” Bobby asks Keith. “You think it would be easier?”

Keith lifts the boy onto his lap. Gianni looks for his mother.

“I’m right here, buddy,” she says.

“You’re fine,” Keith says, but that’s wishful thinking.

“You want Mommy to sit with you?” Nicole asks. “You want a lollipop?”

Keith steps down and now Nicole cradles their son. Bobby comes at him with his clippers. Nicole hands him the lollipop. A futile gesture; tears streak Gianni’s face. The clippers sound menacing, and now they mean business, clip-clip-clip-clip-clip all over his head.

“What do you wanna do, knock down the curls a little?” Bobby says.

“We have to do it eventually, right?” Nicole says. “Take a good amount because it’s so long.”

Bobby works his clippers, scissors and comb. He sprays. He dusts the fallen locks off Gianni’s slender neck. Gianni holds his father’s finger in his right hand, his lollipop in his left. Keith moves away to shoot still photos and a video, which he will share with the grandparents. They were discouraged from attending, for fear of intensifying the drama.

“You’re going to be so handsome,” Nicole says. “You’re going to look like a different kid!”

Things are OK now, and Gianni stops crying. He fiddles with the ashtray in the metal arm of the chair, an old-fashioned model that brings Norman Rockwell to mind. He’s fascinated by what’s unfolding in the mirror.

“Do you recognize yourself?” Nicole says. “Who’s that? Are you a big boy now?”

“I can’t get over the curliness,” Bobby says. “He’s got nice hair, I tell you. He’s lucky. You wanna knock it down along the ears a little bit?”

“Yeah, on the sides,” Nicole says.

“Wanna put a little gel in there?”

“Yeah, Keith does.”

The finishing touches leave Gianni’s hair shiny and smooth.

“All done,” Bobby says. “Cool dude.”

Eleven minutes in, and the cut’s over. Gianni’s locks blanket the floor like leaves in autumn. Bobby wraps some in paper towels and hands them to Nicole, to be treasured along with the baby pictures and first pair of shoes. The actual loss is measured in grams, but Gianni looks pounds lighter, the hair-to-head ratio having been substantially narrowed. A different kid, as Mom predicted, handsome in a fresh new way. Gianni smiles with his second lollipop, a reward from Bobby.

“Thank you,” Nicole says.

“Thank you,” says Bobby.

Keith, a self-employed carpenter, and Nicole, who works at Honda Suzuki World, her family’s company, are expecting their second child in October. An early ultrasound revealed they will be having a boy.

A more recent one showed what the technician described as “wispy hair,” suggesting that Gianni’s brother will have his own date with Bobby C., some two years hence.

gwmiller@projo.com