Haircut(s)

Andres and I were up and out of the house early today for a quick trip to Lessard's Barbershop. We were both in need of a trim (he needed a cut more than I did, if you must know the truth) and luckily arrived at Lessard's just as Paul's chair was opening up.

I've been going to Lessard's for about 7 or 8 years now. I found it when I was living in Brighton after a relatively futile search for a barber to replace the 70-something Italian guy I used to go to when I lived in Delaware. (For the life of me I cannot remember his name...I want to say "Nick." Anyway, he had great stories about his life in Wilmington, always charged me different amounts for a cut, and wielded a straightedge with less accuracy but more confidence than anyone else I have ever known. Oh--and he called me "John.") Nick was fantastic, and even after I moved back to Boston in 2000, I would try to time my haircuts around planned trips to the tri-state area so that I could visit him.

However, I soon realized that traveling to Wilmington every 8 weeks or so was not feasible. I auditioned a few barbershops around Brighton, but none felt right--they were either too empty, or too old, or used too much talcum powder. Then I found Lessard's--packed to the gills on Saturdays (largely with BC students, which wasn't necessarily a good thing), ample (and current) magazines and papers to read, and a couple of barbers who were not that much older than me. And they gave a great haircut.

So we headed there today. The commute from Waltham into Brighton isn't too bad, especially on the Friday before Labor Day. I've now been taking Andres to Lessard's for a couple of years, so he knows the place, knows Mike and Paul, and knows how to sit still in the seat (it also helps that Paul, who has two kids himself, turns the TV to PBS when Andres hops in the chair). Paul cuts his hair and Andres zones out.

Success! We both look much better when we depart than we did when we arrived. Andres thanks Paul, says bye to Mike, and takes a lollipop for his effort. I drop him off at home and head into work.

The story doesn't end there, though.

Imagine my surprise later in the afternoon when I find out that someone was not satisfied with the job that Paul did and decided to cut his own hair.

(Now, as a quick diversion, this type of behavior does not come without some family precedent--my brother played barber with my hair one morning in the early 1980s when I was busy watching Underdog, my all-time favorite cartoon. I had no idea what was going on until I stood up at the end of the show and saw a pile of my own hair sitting down next to me--and my brother, scissors in hand and grin on his face, standing behind me.)

I came home from work expecting the worst--a bald spot on one side, or a horrible zig-zag pattern through his hair. But it wasn't that bad...despite the seemingly large amount that he cut off, it was from the back of his head and pretty unnoticeable. I'll have to tell Paul to cut it closer next time.

The offending hairs were self-shorn and discarded.