|
Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...
|
I once went to the barber I had been visiting for many, many years, and took my youngest daughter with me. When we stepped outside, she looked up at me and innocently asked, “Why did he spend longer on your eyebrows and your ears than on your hair?”
That pretty much says it all. I have a fairly substantial bald patch, mercifully hidden by my skullcap (not the reason I wear one, but I will not pretend it is not convenient).
Fast forward to today. I have been waiting ages to get my very limited collection of hairs trimmed. Since I stopped using the electric wheelchair, I have not been able to get to the barber myself. Ironically, despite having “more time,” I could never quite find the time.
So, for the third time (after Covid and one summer holiday), my son became my makeshift barber. This time my youngest daughter joined him. For a few minutes I had two enthusiastic hairstylists hovering over me, discussing clipper numbers as if they were trade secrets and using professional sounding words like tapering.
Despite the lack of a mirror, I trusted them completely. This is noteworthy because, during the Covid attempt, my son created a divot on the back of my head worthy of a golf course bunker. But today was great. It was fun, light hearted, and exactly the kind of small moment that ends up meaning more than it seems. My wife and eldest daughter have given their approval, which is all the validation a man really needs.
It turned out to be a much needed boost. I had not been having the best day. I was simply bored. Everyone else was out, at the beach, at work, running errands, and I found myself following a thread on a PSP forum about the guilt carers sometimes feel when they leave their loved ones at home. Most of the time, I am genuinely happy that my family continues living their lives and routines. But today I was just in a bit of a mood, and that little haircut pick me up arrived at exactly the right moment.
Who knew a trim could do so much?
I suppose my only complaint is that I was not offered an espresso and a magazine. Then again, my usual barber, a lovely man, used to work out of a shed, so perhaps my expectations should remain modest.
