Writing the previous Entry about Braden's first haircut took me on a nice Reminiscance of my childhood when my dad would take me to go get my haircut. For as long as I could remember, all while I was growing up in the Maryland suburbs, my dad took me every month and a half like clockwork to this International barbershop. It was "international" because the barbers were all of different nationalities from Europe and Asia. In particular I remember an Italian gentleman and the owner of the shop, a rather jovial Korean fellow.

The Korean (at least that's what I think he was) was the one who cut my hair most of the time. He seemed pretty friendly and always asked in his broken English how I was doing, what I was studying in school, things of that nature. I always blushed or was profousely embarrassed when he asked me if I had any girlfriends or if there were any girls I liked. But that was the sort of guy he was - almost like a big brother type.

During the time I frequented that particular hair cuttery, they moved once if memory serves me correctly. The first shop they had was very small, kind of a long rectangular room. The waiting area was up front, and they had barber chairs in a single line, one behind the other extending towards the interior of the building. At the second location, it was a larger square room, with a lot more open space. The waiting "area" in this case consisted of chairs set up against the wall where you first walked in. And the barber chairs had their own stations along the far two walls, leaving a big open area in the middle. That way, everyone could see and interact with everyone else in the store.

Our routine was always the same - my dad would lead the way and take the first available barber, while I would wait impatiently for the next one to free up. And seeing as how I had no style (more like it was an apathy towards stylish haircuts), when it was my turn, my dad would beckon the barber over to him and mumble a few words of advice, probably something like, "cut it short, taper the back, above the ears." As I grew older, those key phrases became a part of my repertoire as I repeated them verbatim to the barber like I was taught.

I always disliked having my haircut because I thought it was a waste of time. Not only did we have to drive a good 25-35 minutes to get to the barbershop, we usually ended up having to wait around for a while before it was our turn, and then I had to sit through the humdrum of actually having my haircut. For a young boy with Adventures to go on, this definitely put a cramp in my style.

After suffering through the token questions about my life, I knew the end was near when the barber trimmed the hair above my ears and then ripped off the tissue paper covering he had placed around my neck. Why they used that I have no idea as I always still had hair falling down my back before the haircut was over. But the feeling of the cold, smooth metal above my ears was always a welcomed sensation. The delicate snip-snip-snip as he trimmed away the wild strands that dared to intrude into my ears' personal space.

By this time, my dad was usually done with his haircut and would leave me in charge of paying the bill while he dashed off to some other errand in the same shopping center. I had grown accustomed to this and knew where I was to look for him. Thanking the barbers for their good work (you never ever insult someone who wields a razor blade near your delicate skin), I promised we'd be back again in another four to six weeks.

That was the only point in my life where I consistently went to the same barber(shop) over and over again. I guess the benefit of that was they actually got to see me grow from a little boy into a grown man. Even to this day, I can still picture the Korean barber and hear his voice in my mind.

And you know what? I think I'd like to see him again if I could, just to tell him what I remember about him and his shop. Just as long as he doesn't ask me about my girlfriends in the past thirteen years since I left for college.

(May, 1989) Me in HS w/unstylish hair

(Summer, 1993) In college, I decided I had enough haircuts for a while so I started to grow my hair out. Here you see me standing somewhat more stylishly in front of Versailles.

(Summer, 1994) Finally ponytail length. Me sitting on top of a ridge in Montana during my summer geology field camp.

(Summer, 1995) Me visiting Jen for the first time holding Ariel, age 2. Check out the long lustrous hair (on me, not Ariel!)

A year ago today: ArcView, Tom, and Trillian