The Haircut

The Haircut: Tuesday 09/07/10

*Author's Note - I wrote this originally in Sept 2010 as a "note" on my facebook page, so some of you may have already read this.

A haircut. It was just supposed to be a haircut - well, that and a much needed "color", I  reluctantly admit.

The appointment is for 9AM. Why did I pick the very first day that my kids would be in school for a full session? I mean, I was busy! I had shit to do. I had no business sitting in a chair for some 3 hours-plus, rendered completely useless by a straight-jacketed 'color cape', and my cell phone - completely out of reach. Out of touch with everything and everyone. I swear, some days I really do believe that I would rather lose my car keys than my  "Reality"...Ya, "Reality" is what this new cell phone is called. Imagine that.

So, there I am, trying to settle in but, thinking of all the things I am NOT doing. Still totally keyed-up with anxiety left over from Thursday's and Friday's Back-to-School-Cluster-F***; my son's 5th grade bus still nowhere in sight going on 3:45PM. Which in turn made me late meeting my 2 daughters in the schoolyard. "Here comes Mrs. M_______" (running down here late, like a jack-ass)... I could almost hear everyone thinking.  Still stressed out. Food shopping.What's for dinner?Hockey practice tonight.3 showers.No, they are not going to play outside if they ask me... Way too much to do. And getting a cut/color is absolutely the last thing I should be doing at this point in time.

Then something starts happening. Since I can't do anything, I begin to do nothing.  I start taking things in - The smell of french-pressed coffee. This beautiful salon I am sitting in, which is essentially closed on this day. It's quiet, just Andrea Bocelli and his melodious, vocal beauty. The fresh flowers on the table and at the front desk. These women, working so hard at what they love to do.  I am starting to relax. And I notice it. I'm actually in the present - a totally foreign concept to me; (anyone who knows me will say that I'm all about yesterday, last year, in high school; OR next week, 6 months from now, summer2011;... I often "borrow sorrow from tomorrow") But I'm in the moment so I'm going with this, then. I'm turning this into not a chore, but an experience. I catch up with the Ladies who work here, the owner, hell, I even greet the "Boy in Brown" when he delivers the big boxes of Hair Product.

Then, the timer goes off. The bell rings. Rinse me, or I am Grape-Ape! I'm rinsed. I'm cut. Then, I'm done, right? Noooo, the color needs a "glaze".  Umm, alright, glaze me... I guess I have time. Do I? Starting to doubt and feel guilty. Have I been here too long? What about all the STUFF I have to get done? Hello, self??? I begin to get anxious again. The bell rings once more. I'm getting rinsed again, and ya ya ya water feels fine,shampoo smells great,I have to get out of here,I have things to do.

This is what I am thinking when we hear The Man's voice. We look at each other, because we can't see him. Another stylist comes around the corner. Now there's 3 of us at the sinks in back. We hear him say,  "Mom, are you sure you are ok? We can come back, do this another day."

I am lead to my stylist's chair and seated right next to her. This beautiful, proud, woman of about 80 years old. And there is the girl that just cut my hair- this gorgeous, young, vibrant girl, who is so bravely shaving off this elderly woman's hair. We all quietly, respectfully sit in silence, exchanging small hesitant smiles with each other as this is taking place. I am now looking through a completely different window from within my soul and I see two; two profiles in courage. No wait, I see three- Her Son; he's late 50's, maybe sixty. Another one...offers to show her how to tie a scarf. That's four. They are all over the place, these brave and scared and kind and courageous people.

Once her hair was gone, she stood up tall. Her strength and pride clearly evident, as she looks in the mirror. She turns to look at all of us, this woman who is now all humility and face, and says through her tentative smile, "Now, I am beautiful."  Copious amounts of both tears and compassion begin to flow through the salon. Hugs are exchanged with everyone. Mother and son take their leave. We bid them well, tell them to LIVESTRONG.  I hear my cell phone ring. My so called "Reality"...I ignore it, because I am already there. This is REALITY.

A haircut. It was just supposed to be a haircut. I went home with so much more. That, and red hair.