Thursday, February 07, 2008

Barber Shop

Mom didn't get mad at me for most things other moms might have such as getting dirty or eating cat food...mmmm cat food. I couldn't resist those little x's and o's and the sour taste in my cheeks, hey I was 5 and didn't know any better:) ha. There were however two things that really got to her. Refusing to put on a dress (especially on Sunday's) and the mother of all "girl" sins CUTTING MY OWN HAIR.
It was a warm and sunny day. A perfect day for playing barber shop with a little friend of mine named T.C. My mom babysat T.C. for a few days a week which I loved because it gave me someone to play with while Jeff was in school. I sat T.C. down in the "Barber chair" which was located in our living room. I then tried my best to brush her tangled brown hair but kept getting stuck. Well that just wouldn't do! Hmmm I paused. Perhaps at this moment in the spiritual realm you may have seen a little red devil on one shoulder holding a pair of scissors and grinning from ear to ear and on the other an angel waving it's arms trying to get my attention. I think that angel already knew he was beat. "Stay right there." I commanded T.C. Just like that I was gone and back again with a big pair of Mama sized scissors. I was so excited about cutting hair for the first time ever that I never stopped to think of the permanence real scissors would do. I grabbed a chunk of T.C.'s hair and squeezed. The vibration of each cut hair coursed through the scissors and into my little hand sending me a thrill. The snip snip sound made me want to cut more. So I pulled my own hair out in front of my face and placed the scissors as far up with me still being able to see them and watched the hairs fall in a perfectly unstraight line. I thought I did a good job until my mom walked in and gasped and no it was not a happy gasp but rather shocked and angry. I promptly had the scissors taken away along with any remaining hair still clutched in my hand.
Mom gave me a talking to and I shyly made my apologies to T.C.'s mom. Later that weekend I went to a real barber shop where they cut off many more hairs. Mom had to make me get out of the car when we got home. I walked as slow as I could with my head hung in shame. Mom asked what was wrong with me. I told her that I looked like a boy and that Dad wouldn't know me, he was going to think I was a little boy. I was so scared and embarrassed to go in the house. I saw dad through the glass panels of our sun porch. He was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper. Mom snapped me out of my daydreams of Dad thinking I was another son and in I walked. Dad put down his paper and took a look at me and my hair and told me it looked nice. Wow! he knew it was me and I was free to go play.
In the beginning my short hair felt like a neon sign flashing, "Suzie was a bad girl and cut her own hair!!!" then I got used to it and life went on as before except instead of scissors we used fingers to cut hair in "Barber shop".