Barbering

“The three most important people in a man’s life are his barber, his butcher, and his lover. I have lost one of those…” -Ron Swanson on the death of his barber

This is a fitting quote for my dad. He loves Parks and Recreation and he loves his barber - me. Dad is 80. He has a great thick head of hair, just a bit gray, and oddly, now curly. He was his own barber for most of his adult life, but he “lost” his barber when he couldn’t do it anymore. A degenerative neurologic affliction stole his ability to move and he has to be lifted in and out of bed and into his motorized wheelchair each morning and night with an electric Hoyer lift. He ended up in a nursing home for a while. It was a bad time. He was really unhappy with their paid barbering service. So, I stepped in and I’m his barber.

Dad’s Home Health Aide likes his hair short because it’s easier to take care. Mom likes his hair longer because that’s the way he always wore it – and he’s got great hair, but it’s a minor battle. It’s crazy how having a decent haircut can lift your spirits. It makes everybody happier. My Mom appreciates the “view” after his six week trim. His HHA likes the easier care and Dad feels better, too. “When you look good, you feel good,” right?

At first it was odd to have such personal contact with my father, but I love being Dad’s barber. We’re not a “huggy” bunch, although we’ve always been close. I wrap him up in a sheet to protect the wheelchair and his clothes. I’m clumsy with the scissors sometimes – I’ve snipped his ear once, and I've nipped his lip while I was trimming his mustache. It took some time to learn how to cut his hair. I’ve had to grow into barbering.

I love the time I spend with Dad cutting his hair, just the two of us. We talk about things we wouldn’t discuss if we were sitting chatting. I hear how he’s really doing, issues with his care, how he feels mentally and physically. Hands-down it’s best half hour I could spend with him. It reminds me of the conversations I’ve had in the car with my daughter while driving. Having another focus loosens the tongue. Being one of four children (three surviving) I’m also selfish - no one else has this relationship with Dad except me. It’s exclusively ours.

One of our latest barbering conversations:

Me: I love cutting your hair.

Dad: I love to have you do it.

I’m not turning in my scissors anytime soon.