Historical November–December 2017 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
Change is inevitable.
It can come gradually, like the chrysalis to a butterfly. Or it can be a sudden, jarring event, punctuated by the destruction of the status quo.
As rational beings, our reaction to the change equilibrium can affect how one approaches life.
Some embrace it, some resist it, while others choose to retreat into their cocoon, and ignore it. Deep down in my heart, I know I’m bald, but when I look in the mirror, I see the wings of a butterfly.
On some days, my hair untamed, fluttering in the wind, I envy a scrunchy.
When a simple hand comb would suffice, I use my monogrammed brush to lovingly tend the garden.
With the sensation of a phantom limb, I brush my hair back, to sweep it off my face. Even though empirical evidence doesn’t support the idea, I still feel the need for a haircut now and then. Geographically, my hair is shaped like an isthmus; a narrow strip of hair connecting two larger patches, across an expanse of skull. For the past ten years, I’ve entrusted the care of this delicate ecosystem to my stylist Cheryl. No simple groundskeeper, she has the skill and dedication of a surgeon; painstakingly working around every nubbin and snippet to prolong the health of my hair style.
It was a shock to the system when she retired this summer. Adrift, without a safety net, I was cast down to the depths of Haircut Hell.
It felt like waking up in a Johnny Depp movie; the next available appointment with Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Great Clips.
The outcome of a haircut has a direct bearing on one’s self worth.
A good one quickens the step and sharpens the focus, while a bad one is cordoned off like a crime scene, yellow tape surrounding the tragedy.
This summer I lived under the shame of a baseball cap, each trip to Great Clips a walk down the Green Mile. Hope and faith is the bridge over sudden change, and when God shuts a door, He opens a basement window. Cheryl heard my sobbing on social media and said she’d cut my hair in her basement.
I took her up on the offer and now balance and glamour have returned to my life. Though my haircut was the most significant, there have been other changes in my life.
My oldest daughter Claire has her first job out of college and moved to Los Angeles.
She took her car in for maintenance; the first time all on her own.
She wanted to know, “Do I tip the mechanic?” Sometimes change comes with a learning curve.
My middle daughter Mary ran her first marathon, and has her own furnished apartment.
I told her if she had trained harder she could have done better.
She said to me, “Dad I finished the race. You couldn’t finish watching it.” What can I say? Life isn’t easy on a bum knee.
I feel sorry for Anne, our youngest. She’s smart, pretty, funny and snagged a homecoming date.
But she’s the only child left in the house, alone under the withering gaze of both her parents.
There is no shade or deflection.
I told her she’s living in a Sting song. “Every breath you take, we’ll be watching you.” She looked at me and asked, “What’s a Sting?” It seems best to turn and face the strange changes, just try to float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, November–December 2017.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times2017_11.pdf, printed page(s) 6; PDF page(s) 6.
