Ann Kroeker, Writing Coach

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January 22, 2009 9 Comments

Barber Chair Reflections

After I posted “Freshening Up,” it occurred to me that my choice of a barber chair to represent haircuts and trims might have come across decidedly unfeminine.I suddenly realized, Why, that’s a man-chair!Why didn’t I choose a compact mirror with powder or blush to illustrate “freshening up”?blush1Or lipgloss application?lipglossEven a women’s hair dryer, for that matter?hairdryerWhy the inexplicable comfort level with–even attraction to–an old barber shop chair?As you can see, I began to feel a little self-conscious about my choice.Then last night memories drifted through dreams, and I awoke this morning remembering that when I was a little girl, my mom would send me off with my dad to Buck the Barber’s.I vaguely recall Buck as an old and fairly frail, slender man. His one chair, as antique in style as yesterday’s example, was mounted in the center of a wood-paneled room. Some mirrors hung on one side of the room; I think an old calendar dangled from a thumbtack on the wall, and there may have been a gumball machine by the door.Dad always got in the chair first, and the old barber would trim Dad’s thin hair and sideburns, and clip his beard or mustache when he had one. After Buck brushed away the stray hairs, it was my turn.Buck grabbed a couple of telephone books to prop me up.Then he’d drape the cape around me and set to work lining up my bangs as best he could.My mom’s theory was that he didn’t feel like he had much to do when trimming my bangs, so he’d always comb forward a few extra hairs so that he was actually clipping something.Visit after visit, my bangs crept farther and farther back–instead of a wispy fringe framing my face, those bangs eventually sprouted from the crown of my head.I think I’m modeling a Buck the Barber ‘do in this photo I scanned for your amusement:annieNow you know. During my formative years, that little girl you see nervously fidgeting in the photo above regularly climbed into a barber chair like the one below for a trim.barber-chair1After returning to the barber shop chair of my youth, I find myself strangely warming to the idea of bangs.And…I love the chair.

Filed Under: self-discovery, simplicity

Comments

  1. Jane Anne Owen says

    January 22, 2009 at 6:31 pm

    What a wonderful story. Those are some great bangs! I loved the picture. Maybe my daughter will enjoy the barber shop one day. She has 3 older brothers to follow after. She will probably want to get her haircut with them!

    Reply
  2. Amber@theRunaMuck says

    January 23, 2009 at 9:24 pm

    I think you’re hilarious

    and Beautiful!

    Reply
  3. L.L. Barkat says

    January 26, 2009 at 9:34 am

    I love the chair too! : )

    And, no worries on CM. Someday I’ll get a collector’s edition, after your next book comes out and everyone is scrambling to find that first book!

    Reply
  4. mike savad says

    February 28, 2009 at 3:18 pm

    What a great story!

    —Mike Savad

    Reply
  5. Megan Willome says

    June 27, 2012 at 4:31 pm

    Now we know! I love the detail of the telephone books. They guy I went to used them, too, only he was definitely a stylist.

    Reply
    • annkroeker says

      June 27, 2012 at 4:58 pm

      Buck was definitely NOT a stylist. Definitely a Barber. He had one of those swirling things outside the shop. I can’t think how to describe them.

      Reply
  6. David Rupert says

    June 28, 2012 at 11:19 am

    That is a very cool chair. There is something about the smell of hair tonic and the clippings no the floor.

    Loved this reflection of a good old barber ..

    Reply
    • Ann Kroeker says

      June 28, 2012 at 11:27 am

      Thanks for dropping by, David. This was an old, old-school barber…quite old when I was very young. You added the smells and texture in your comment perfectly.

      Reply

Trackbacks

  1. My Father’s Gifts « says:
    June 15, 2010 at 1:14 pm

    […] I loved a lot of things from my childhood, like going with you to Buck the barber to get my bangs trimmed, and munching those White Castles late at night. But the nights you carried […]

    Reply

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