There I was getting my hair styled and color touch-up when in comes a young woman with her son of about 3 or 4 maybe 5. Now the whole salon is full and bustling with activity and as the mother tries to put the child in the chair, with booster seat, all heck breaks lose and the tears start flowing along with the screaming. All eyes are now watching the show and laughing as the stylist artfully cuts and combs the boy between squirms and head jerks and tiny arm flares to fight off the attack. Now as this is going on I started to flash back to when I had to go to the barber's shop as a small boy, the red chair with the white porcelain arms and the booster seat that went across them, the smell of the blue comb cleaner, the feel of the paper collar around my neck, the buzz of the clippers, the Italian music playing, need less to say the barber was of Italian descent and a very small screen black&white T.V. up in the corner. Back then, late 50's early 60's my father always had me get a crew cut with that little patch of hair waxed straight up in the front. I hated it but dad always wins. That was when a small child could walk the streets without worry and I had to walk myself to the barber shop, kind of like walking the longest mile but with no preacher by your side. Soon the show was over and a red lolly-pop soothed the boys anguish and all was right in the world again. Funny how such a small event triggered such a vivid memory, I've been smiling for hours now, and yes I love my new cut and color.