I took my mother to a hair appointment, and in the adjoining chair was a youngster getting his first haircut. His mother and sprightly younger sister of, I would guess, four years of age, was gamely watching along with the proud father. The mother took the chair and sat her son with her. He didn’t wriggle too much at all, nor did he cry. By the end of the event he was quite a handsome fellow, bound to break hearts in daycare.
Looking at my mother in the other chair, having her white and fragile tresses combed out, I saw time passing between two souls: one getting the first haircut while the other experiences from appointment to appointment what may be the last before passing into an existence beyond rollers and sprays and gaily appointed pneumatic styling chairs.
Simple moments such as these are what make daily life more poignant.
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