Jonah has had maybe 10 or 12 haircuts in his life. (He’s 5 years old.) Each haircut has required a unanimous act of the US Congress, the British Parliament, the UN and 17 lesser known countries. Each haircut has resulted in knock-down, drag-out, blood-curdling fits of anguish. And that was just the barber. Jonah, forget about it.
So, I ventured out yesterday with a long-haired Jonah to find a barber and make him earn his keep. I chose the Alps Barber on Epps Bridge behind Chik-fil-a next to the ice cream place. That way, I had bribery all around me. We arrived and two pre-teens were getting their finest prep-school cuts. If it had been 1985, I’m sure one of them would’ve been sporting a bowl cut. Once they wrap it up, Mitch invites Jonah to climb up into the big chair with a big honking cushion. Once Jonah’s about 6 feet off the floor, Mitch asks what we want to do. Off the ears, off the face, thin it out some.
Now let me tell you about Mitch. Never met him before and never been to this place to get a hair cut before. But Mitch is the quintessential barber. Wingtips. Sharp pressed pants. A short-sleeve collarless shirt tucked in neatly.
Mitch proceeds with scissors and comb and the occasional spritz of water. Jonah is silent. Mitch executes each clip of the scissors with practiced and deliberate precision. Hair falls off Jonah’s head and he’s still silent. This goes on for about 15 minutes until Jonah begins to fidget. A bit of hair had fallen in his eyes and so Mitch grabbed the soft duster from his pocket and quickly swept clean Jonah’s face. No fussing. No crying. Soon, it’s all over and Jonah’s hair is more neatly cut and groomed than ever before.
Perhaps it was Mitch’s control or his pace or the jar of gum and lollipops waiting on the counter next to the cash register. Whatever it was, Mitch has earned a new customer. Cheers to Mitch!
