I’ll be back

This is the guy that cuts my hair.  We shall call him Kevin, because that’s his name. 

That’s Jacob getting his hair cut.  He’s seven, and in second grade.  Do you know when Kevin first cut my hair?  I was in second grade.  How do I remember that?  Well, my mom took me to a place, now long gone, called Mane Country in Old Orchard.  There I got to see my second grade teacher, Mrs. Archibald, getting her hair dyed.  Dyed was the word you used in the ‘70s. I don’t know when it was changed to “colored or highlighted” as no one saw fit to notify me.  The reason I remember so clearly is that my mom threatened to do me physical harm if I told everyone at school that I saw our teacher getting her hair dyed.

That means the first time Kevin cut my hair would have been 1978.  32 years and counting.  Kevin is on his third shop, has open and closed several bars and restaurants, been through a couple of marriages, the birth of his little girl and watching her grow up and have her own kids.

He always looks forward to our time together.  I’m usually only in 3, maybe 4 times a year.  When he is done he feels like he has accomplished something, and I feel fresh and new!

I know someday he is going to retire and I’ll be sad.  I guess I’ll have to let the woman at the station next to him cut my hair.  After all I like the way Kevin cuts my hair, and I don’t see why he couldn’t show his little girl to cut my hair the same way.