Yesterday I took my oldest son (10 years old) in to get his hair cut, which was something I was dreading since I had an eighteen month old and a three month old in tow. Luckily I was able to leave the older of the two babies with my husband for this outing. I was in for a slightly different experience than expected.
The baby was sleeping quietly and there were two people ahead of us...an old man sitting in the barber's chair and a young man sitting in the waiting area. A TV was on in the corner and my favorite daytime show was just coming on (second to Oprah)...Dr. Phil. Today's episode was about giving your mate a makeover...it looked interesting since the subject was the husband getting the makeover.
Just then the white-haired man got up from the barber's chair and had a friendly exchange with the young man who followed. Evidently the old man had played ball with the young man's grandfather years ago. Niceties were exchanged. As the old man headed for the door, he turned in my direction and proceeded to join me seated in the waiting area. I'm not exactly sure how the conversation got started, but needless to say, I was not going to catch Dr. Phil that day.
The man commented on my baby and proceeded to share about the birth of his second child. The subject surfaced that he played baseball in his youth and that piqued my son's interest, since he's a pitcher in the local little league program. The man invited us to come visit sometime and he'd give us a few pitching pointers...he went on to give directions to his house.
Just then another elderly gentleman came in. The first asked how the other was doing and a little flurry of activity went on as the younger man left his barber chair and I ushered my son in to his place. When I went back to my chair, I was swept up in the old men's nostalgic conversations.
One shared about his brush with death years back when he had a heart attack and ended up in intensive care. The other followed with his deathbed experience resulting from an asthmatic condition that led him into the ICU. Yet both sat happily there exchanging their stories, grateful for every breath they took. It was refreshing to watch...two men in their golden years telling true life tales from their past.
The second man went on to discuss an experience of his in the Korean war and afterwards it was like something was lit inside of him. He mentioned how good it felt to retell that story...
By then my son was done with his haircut, so I grabbed my baby, paid the barber and said my goodbyes to the elderly folk. The white haired ballplayer re-extended the offer for us to visit as we exited the shop. Outside I turned to my son and said, "I don't know if he meant it, about us coming for a visit or if he was just being sociable." Maybe he did mean it. Maybe a chance to mingle with a new friend and share a bit from his past is what the fellow needed. Maybe that's why he spends his time sitting in the barber shop...telling stories.
You know, I just might pay him a visit this summer (and bring along a tape recorder). After all, I love hearing stories from the past.
Have you read Viola Brady's memoir, Down Memory Lane? I thoroughly enjoyed it.
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