As the More is More Mom®, I am all about….more sending my fellas to the barber shop! I’m one of those girls that doesn’t believe that Samson had all of his power in his hair. I prefer a neat and tidy haircut, just this side of the military.
We traumatized my Nick with his first professional haircut when he was about 15 months old. Nick the Barber had a shop just around the corner from our apartment in the city, so we walked over as a family, and I sat with Nicky in my lap in the chair. And then he began to cry (and scream. Like, forever.). It took me, Chuck, Nick the Barber and Nick the Barber’s wife to hold him down. You would have thought we had cut off his right arm, or taken away his blank-y. I’d never seen such tears.
Naturally, as he got older, the haircuts got easier, until one day when he was in the 6th grade. We zipped over to one of the 14 barber shops in our downtown area. I thought to myself, this was going to work our perfectly; he can get a haircut and I can go to the bank. A two-fer. I loved it! I gave him instructions and a twenty and went off on my merry little errand. When we rendezvoused, I was actually sick to my stomach. Instead of the classic crew cut that I had envisioned, he had been given, what we referred to as in my day, a baldy sour! The poor thing. He was so sweet when he pointed out that his fitted baseball cap no longer fit his head.
Later in the afternoon we were racing off to his friend’s birthday party. When we arrived at the house, all of the boys were playing basketball in the driveway. Nick walked right up to his pals, stood in the middle for dramatic effect, took off his ill fitting hat to reveal his all but bald head, and told the boys, “I gave my hair to Locks for Love.”
Needless to say, it was time to find a new barber. For the first time, nearly six years ago, we walked in to the Wheaton Barber Shop, and we’ve never looked back. It’s like being at Cheers…where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came. It’s the kind of place where generations of families go to get their haircut. The kids go away to college and move from their parents homes, but they always come back to the Wheaton Barber Shop. And why wouldn’t they? The fella’s are fantastic. I don’t know quite how they do it, but they remember everything, about everybody, ever. It’s like being home.
Whenever Wrigley and I run to the downtown area, we always stop in to say hello. He’s a welcome guest. In fact, recently when I accompanied Nick for a haircut, Rick, the Barber, commented, “We were looking at the Christmas card you gave us and we can’t believe how old….Wrigley looks.” Not Nick. Not Amanda. But Wrigley. I love that!
Not only are the boys fun, but they are compassionate and caring too. Three years ago, when Chuck ripped his thumb off of his hand, and enjoyed a successful replant, compliments of the amazing doctors at OAD Orthopaedics, I called Rick to ask for his help. Chuck was sporting the largest dressing you had ever seen in your life, couldn’t get his hand wet, and therefore couldn’t take a shower. I brought him to the Wheaton Barber Shop. Rick met me outside, helped me get him out of the car, washed his hair in the bowl and gave him a shave. Chuck felt like a new man (with a new, practically bionic, thumb).
Nick may be 18, but when I call to make an appointment, Rick always asks, “How do you want his haircut?” My answer is always the same; short in the back and on the sides, with it a little longer on the top.
More small town feel, more caring friends, more happy memories….