The Barber with the Gentle Hands
That Saturday, we went to the barbershop. The bell chimed, and everyone looked up—out of habit, not cruelty. The barber, a big man with a soft voice, met Mom’s eyes and said, “I’ve got just the chair.” He wrapped a cape around my neck, ran the clippers gently over my scalp, then turned to Mom. “May I?” She nodded. He didn’t pretend it was ordinary. He made it noble. He made it art.
