I got a haircut next to the General’s father yesterday. He made a mess of the place. He kept insisting on more and more water. And warmer! His 83-year old neck cradled in the barber’s notched sink.
They had to blow dry the shirt on his back. His hair, thin and disheveled, became a second thought.
The lady barber ran her hand over his head, pushing the hair down tightly against his thin scalp. He smiled.
“You know what those four stars mean?” he asked to no one and everyone in particular, pointing to the stars on his hat.
“Yes, your son is a four-star general,” replied the barber lady, who was more than accustomed to the routine.
He smiled again, paid $30 for a $15 wash and cut, and walked out with a still-wet back.
The barber swiveled my chair so that I faced the mirror again. The show was over.
“So what are you up to today?” he asked.
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