Getting a Haircut with My Dad

      My Dad is sitting in a chair and there is a white sheet covering him.

      I look outside the window and I see a red and white candy striped pole.

      There is a bald man standing behind my dad and he is wearing a white coat and he is shaving my Dad’s whiskers off his face with a type of knife I have never seen before.

         I look to my left and there is a strange man sitting a few seats away from me.

      He is old and he has funny looking wiry hair on his head and lots of this hair is growing out of his ears – like little Wisk brushes.

         The man is wearing a long sleeved plaid shirt and it looks like one of his sleeves is ‘empty’.

      It occurs to me that he does not have a left arm.

      I feel shock. I feel amazement. I have never seen anyone without all of their arms and legs.

      I am fascinated with this man and I cannot take my eyes off of him.

      My father calls my name. His tone is just a bit sharp… urgent.

       The bald man in white jacket is wiping off the remaining foam from my Dad’s face and then the bald man shakes liquid out of a bottle and slaps it on my Dad’s face.

      My Dad’s face scrunches up oddly, like he is in pain, but he seems to like how the liquid makes him feel.

      The bald man unties the white sheet - which is covered with lots of hair off the front of my Dad’s body - like a magician doing a trick.

         My Dad gets up and calls me to the chair.

         He picks me up and rubs his clean-shaven face against the sensitive skin on my face. It still feels wiskery, but much smoother.

         I squeal and laugh from the pain/pleasure of his face rubbing against mine and he laughs his infectious laugh.

         I love my Dad and I am glad to be with him. Somehow I feel like this place is a special place for fathers and sons to hang out.

      The bald man places a leather-covered box on the chair that my Dad had previously sat.

      My Dad lifts me up and places me on this box and the bald man flips a clean white sheet over my little body.

      He holds my head and starts to shear off the hair of my head. He shaves the back of my neck with the same strange knife he used on my Dad’s face.

      Then he puts that same liquid on the back of my neck that he put on my Dad’s face and then I knew why my Dad’s face had scrunched up.

      The cool liquid stung and yet it felt good.

      The bald man flips the sheet off me once more like a magician.

      My Dad lifts me off the chair and places me on the floor and the bald man gives me a red and white striped candy cane.

      The man with one arm takes the chair I had just left.

      Fascinated, I impulsively lookup the man’s left shirt sleeve to see where the arm had been hidden.

     “Where is your arm, I ask the man?”

“My Dad gently scolds me, “It’s not polite to ask.”

     I am embarrassed and feel anxious that I had done something wrong, that I had disappointed my Dad.

      The man laughs and says it is okay.

      He tells me that he forgot and left his arm at home.

     The bald man, my Dad and this man all laugh at my amazement.

      I feel better now that they are all laughing – happy sounds!

      I love being with my Dad!