Life of Hardin Vol. IV, No. 10

Shave and a Haircut

The good Lord, in his wisdom, gave Paul a thorn in his side to keep him humble. To me he gave the tangled mass of hair upon my head. It resembles more the dense and weedy undergrowth of an African jungle than it does a head of hair. It has been unruly and uncooperative most of my life. I even thought at one time about shaving my head because I heard a rumor that curly hair would grow back straight if shaved off.

In my younger days I kept it cut so short it could not curl. It was the only trick I had discovered to keep it semi-tame. I worried so much about it that I avoided conversations with girls for fear my hair would suddenly sprout an inch and cause my instant mortification. In order to keep it thus short I required frequent haircuts. I refused, however, to pay six dollars to fight a losing battle. Instead I required my mom to do the cutting. With the passage of time my hair wore me down. It never stopped growing. I tired of the bi-weekly trim, and I gave up the fight. I let my hair go. I resolved myself to the life of a mountain man, lonely and unkempt (minus the mountain).

So I freed my hair to go its own way and to curl as much as it could stand. Later I ran into an old friend, a girl, who years before held my heart in her hand. At our chance meeting that same hand shot out and toyed with my hair. “Your curls are so cute!” she cooed.

I slapped her hand down, stuck my tongue out, and went immediately for a haircut.

Now I own a pair of professional electric hair clippers. My wife uses them to cut my hair every few months or so when children begin to run from me or women instinctively run their fingers through my locks. My wife is a perfectionist. “I don’t want to mess it up,” she says as she agonizes before each trim. She doesn’t believe me when I say, “Just go to cutting. You can’t hurt it. It will grow back.” She sometimes takes half an hour to complete the task. The first time it took forty-five minutes. She double-checked each hair to make sure they were all the same length. It was the most even haircut I ever had. My head looked like a giant yellow cotton ball. I immediately went to the bathroom and unevened myself with a pair of scissors.

I still refuse to waste money on a barber to do a job more suited for a weed eater. I gladly sit on the balcony while my wife frets over each falling curl. It’s a small price for sanity.