Tears and a Haircut, Your Done

This is Stephen- G had an appointment today so I worked extra in the week and then took off this afternoon (we call it "flex time".) I took Claire Bear with me as an assistant in training. We titled and registered the Toyota Tercel in the state of Virginia. Then we went to get Daddy a haircut. We pulled up to the barber shop and the two old barbers were each napping in their barber chairs. It was a slow Friday. I set CB down on the ground with a bottle of momma's milk and a newspaper to rip up. The older barber put the cloth around my neck and wrapped me up in the anti-hair protector. He was buzzing away all around my head for 5 minutes and then I looked at Clara. When our eyes made contact, her inexpressive face broke into bitter emotion. It was not a 'I'm hungry' cry or 'I'm too tired to sleep' cry, it was a help-less, terror-struck outpour moving between quick whimpers and heavy, deep, deep sobs. I picked her up thinking that all she needed was to sit on my lap. The barber started the buzzing again. She buried her tearful face into my chest and continued to cry. The barber stopped again. Poor fellow looked like he was 106 years old, but he was very patient.

I got up and walked around with hair falling off me and the two barbers now clucking repeatedly to console the little girl in a milking wet T-shirt that had a million little cut hairs now pasted all over her. She finally settled down. Another customer entered, unaware of the torment that had just stopped the whole store 2 min. earlier. Normal conversation started up. Normal conversation in a barber shop concerns the wrong policies of the government (whether local, federal, or otherwise) and the people that make those wrong policies. My barber finishes up. Clara now adds a sentence to the conversation. I pay. We leave. We return to pick up the milk bottle we forgot and put back the newspaper. We leave again.

My mom might be reading this thinking about the time I cried because the barber whacked off all my hair without notice as a little boy (like when I was 5, I got over it during the military years), but this is different. Claire is almost 11 months. I don't know what was going on in that little head (and I don't know how to put this), but I think I will remember this occasion the next time I think about doing something wreckless.

On another note, I wanted to post a cute pic of my girls.