I walked into the barbershop with Dad and waited my turn. There were several gents perusing the latest newspaper while holding animated conversations with the barber. Norm concentrated on the head of hair before him, scissors clacking rhythmically as he snipped methodically around the ears but never missing his turn in the give and take of the conversations.
Looking with wonderment at all the tools on the counter and wondering which he would use on my head, I grew impatient and started fidgeting. A quick look from Dad and I knew I was not to leave my chair until given permission.
Finally it was my turn. I was shorter than most of his customers so Norm took a well worn board from behind the counter, quickly dusted it off and set it on the arms of his barber chair. Following his invitation I climbed the chair and plopped my butt on the board. “How would you like it cut?” Norm asked as he covered me with one of his plastic aprons. I glanced at Dad for help with the answer. “A Pixie cut”, Dad replied and Norm went to work. A snip here, a snip there, I could see the clusters of hair falling to the floor. I felt a gentle touch and instinctively knew to bow my head so Norm could trim my neck. Moments later, I felt a soft bristle brush sweeping any loose hair from my head. Norm handed me a small mirror. “Do you like it?” he asked with the same concern and consideration he gave his adult customers. I nodded and Norm removed the plastic apron with a shake to allow the rest of the hair to fall to the floor.
Though I was a girl, Norm the barber would give me many haircuts in my early childhood.
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