Chronicles of a difficult haircut Part II (14/40)

“It is surprising I was born at all!!!” I think every time I see pictures of my parents in the 80s in Miami and my dad sporting shorts so short and tight that it looked like his swimmers were living in an inhospitable environment.

He also favored tight polos, visors, and aviator sunglasses. Under the visor, he had a small afro.

I have tried to grow my afro, but my hair is not as curly as my dad’s. Instead, when I grow my hair, it looks like what Colombians would refer to as a “Gallina matada a escobazos.” (A chicken killed with smacks from a straw broom.)

It doesn’t mean I stop trying to grow one. I especially try when I am going through a rough patch in life, and I think to myself, “You know what will fix this? A change in hairstyle.”

My wife looks at it once fully grown and tells me, “It’s a no from me, dawg!”

So, she would always send me on the search for a haircut.

When I moved from San Diego, finding a hairdresser in Sonoma County was very challenging.

I would go to different stores, from ones that were very expensive to ones that were very cheap and were only open every other Wednesday for two hours to ones that were open almost twenty-four hours a day.

Somehow, the hairdressers always manage to make my hair look invariably the same. On the one side of my head, I would look like a regular contributing member of society, and on the other side of my head, I would look like I was a descendant of peacocks.

Every single time, I would have to go back to my mother-in-law, Nuala.

Besides being a real estate agent, she was also a hairdresser.

It is not so much of a side hustle as it is more of a hobby.

A way to keep up with some of her friends.

They come and sit down, and she takes her time, doing the job right and catching up with their lives.

I can genuinely say that I have never had more philosophical conversations than when I was sitting in Nuala’s chair.

I don’t know why it never occurred to me to ask her to just cut my hair from the get-go, but I didn’t.

I guess I didn’t want to inconvenience here. And in this way, I would let someone else do the rough grading, and she could do the fine grading.

I thought of it as those other less qualified hairdressers doing the grunt work before stepping into Nuala’s chair — for her to add the finesse and pizzazz.

And I need pizzazz in my life.

That was one thing my dad genetically transferred to me, even if his swimmers were swimming against the flow of improper ventilation and circulation.