Today I had to keep cooling off the clippers because so many men were lined up for haircuts at Peace House.
An old rocker who just wanted to look more presentable.
A Chinese man who had great hair already but wanted it shorter on the sides with plenty left on the top.
A middle-aged black man who told me to take it all the way down and luxuriated in the massage the vibrating clippers transmitted to his scalp.
Human touch, felt even through a machine.
A red-haired younger guy with a Spanish surname. He asked to go bald and keep his beard, but then changed his mind. I showed him how he'd look with a Van Dyke. Pretty cool, I thought, but he said, no, take it all off.
A Native man with a long ponytail wanted the front faded and the back left long. It was a challenge to do the fade without nipping the hair pulled back into the band, but when we were finished, he looked ready for the movies.
A kid with dreads asked, do you know how to do a line? Yeah, I said, but he left before his turn came.
I handed each the mirror, urging them to ask for whatever they wanted. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but they seemed uncomfortable demanding too much.
Perfect, more than one said before I thought I was finished. Perfect.
These days, "perfect" can also mean, "that's enough."
Like Rumi, who said, "You must ask for what you really want," I want to tell them, this time is yours alone, for as long as you need. It's okay here to ask for what your heart desires, and I will do the best I can to fulfill it.
Now the day's the trimmings mingle on the floor. Before I sweep them up, I think of five men headed out in the world. A part of them is perfect for the moment, and they are part of this story, which could exist only because of their requests.
