Barbershops and Memories

A guy named Mark gave me my first haircut. Next chair over was Sam. I think Sam became the first person I knew to die, right after JFK; of course I didn't know JFK. For about six years running I've only had my hair cut at barbershops. There was a long stretch where I went to salons and dropped $30.00 plus.   What a waste. The place I go now is called Dick and Arnie's. They aren't there. A guy named Kah cuts my hair.

Today I settled into the chair and closed my eyes for some quiet time. Christmas music was playing. I tuned out the background chatter from the next chair. Out from where ever memories linger an image I love came into my mind. Ten year old Aaron was getting a haircut. The cape was wrapped around his neck, his head tilted down and he looked sideways at me, raised one eyebrow and smiled a grin. Oh that was so beautiful. I know it happened. The image had stayed put for 15 years. I know how that haircut ends. Aaron gets out of the chair, puts a Packer hat on his head and we walk out. He rubs the back of his head feeling the fresh cut nubs. "Feel this Dad".

For two weeks Aaron has been in my dreams. First he was a little guy chasing a neighbor who was mowing our lawn. Aaron had a chain saw. I took the chain saw away and picked up Air Bear. He thought he was in trouble. I held him in my arms and hugged him. Aaron asked if I was mad at him. "No, no. I'm not mad at you. I love you Air Bear." I sobbed with Aaron held tight in my arms. I woke up with eyes full of tears.

At the end of last week Aaron walked into a dream. He was big Aaron. Fully grown, wearing a tan sweater. I walked up to Aaron and gave him a big hug. I buried my face into his chest. I could smell Aaron. It was really him. Dreams are more real than memories. In a dream people speak thoughts and we respond. They have mass and we feel them. They have their unique aromas and we sense them. I do love quiet time and dreaming. My son lives where memories go.