Spencer was a year old when Joan and I took him for his first haircut. We wanted to take him to Linda, our beautician friend, but she won’t work on toddlers. Had we been smart, we’d have asked why. Instead, we took him to a barbershop around the corner. The proprietor, Ed, didn’t ask our preferred style. Just got out the clippers, went to work, and nine bucks later we were calling our son Patches.
On the drive home I did a little math. Nine bucks a month for eighteen years equals nearly two thousand dollars. Two thousand dollars for the priviledge of calling our son Patches. At this point, a reasonable man would have gone back to this beautician friend and asked, “Now why is it that you don’t cut children’s hair?” Instead, with confidence brimming over, I said to Joan, “I’ve’ been to college. I can cut my son’s hair.” I later learned that college has nothing to do with cutting hair. Indeed, a few more years of education might have caused me top reconsider the task I was about to undertake.
Joan, Patches, and I were at the department store the following weekend and came across a haircutting kit on sale! As a student of theology, I perceived this to be a sign from God. Joan had her doubts and put forth a vigorous argument. “A haircut was Samson’s ruination,” she warned.
“Samson was a free-love hippie,” I rejoined. “Besides, the apostle Paul said that men with long hair will burn in Hades.” He didn’t really say that, but I knew she wouldn’t know that.
What happened the next day was "Father Knows Best" meets "Apocalypse Now."
During the following weeks, I observed my son closely for evidence of hair growth. The evening before my debut as hair designer, I sharpened and oiled the clippers, then retired early to gain sufficient rest.
What happened the next day was Father Knows Best meets Apocalypse Now. Because Joan had forbidden me to strap Spencer in his chair, I could hardly be blamed for the catastrophe that followed. Actually, things were going fine until I turned on the clippers. Then Spencer jumped, and the clippers took on a mind of their own. By the time I turned them off, his head had been clear-cut. The good news in all of this was discovering that a baseball cap is even cheaper than a haircutting kit.
The thing that I admire most about my wife, other than her movie-star looks and her Mother Teresa saintliness (can you tell she’s still mad at me?), is her uncanny knack for knowing what she’s good at and what she isn’t. All too often I end up spinning my wheels in fields I should have steered clear of in the first place.
The apostle Paul knew this. He not only talked about hair, he also mentioned something about valuing your gifts and working from your strengths. Which I suspect is what my wife was trying to tell me when she hid my clippers.
Philip Gulley is a Quaker pastor who ministers in Indianapolis. He is married and has two preschool sons. In addition to pastoring and writing, Gulley enjoys spending Sunday afternoons in his hometown.
Title: "Patches"
Author: Philip Gulley
Publication Date: November 30, 2000
Patches
