Last Sunday night, I gathered the equipment, let my wife know the time was at hand, and herded a shirtless Clay into the downstairs bathroom. The dog whimpered in the hallway as I locked the door.

Yep. It was time for Clay’s monthly haircut.

My son’s unruly crop of dark brown hair often looks like it was cut by a one-armed blind man riding in a bumper car at the carnival. No surprise since that is exactly how the experience feels when we attempt the monthly hair fest.

We’ve been through many scenarios. When Clay was younger, and a little more prone to sit still, we would brave the local barbershop. While his behind would stay planted in the chair, his head would bob and weave like a prize fighter. I’m sure some of the barbers took extra long with the person they were working on when it was clear that Clay’s turn was next, hoping they didn’t draw that number. We finally gave that up after a few years when one unlucky soul managed to cut his own finger during the mayhem. Read the rest of this entry »