Gettin' My Hair Did

I hate massages, but I love haircuts. What a day at the spa does for my wife, and most of her friends, a simple haircut does for me. And for me, it all began at J.C.'s Barber Shop in my hometown. For most of my early life J.C. (who is my uncle) cut my hair. As of this writing he is still cutting hair in the same little one room building, across the street from Johnson's Foodtown, for over 50 years now, and he's got it down to a science. About the only thing that has changed in all of those years is the cost of a haircut, which gradually increased a dollar or two every 5 to 10 years. I can remember driving by several times on Saturday while you were in town running errands and checking each time to see if the parking lot had thinned out indicating you wouldn't have a long wait. I can remember having to climb up in his little leather booster chair that was made to look just like the regular barber chair, and him still having to use the manual hand pump lever to boost me a little higher. I can just as vividly remember being virtually paralyzed with fear as he warned my mamma, in as syrupy of a southern drawl as any John Grisham character, to make sure I sat still because, "I wouldn't want to slip and cut this boys ear off." I didn't want that either, especially since he claimed to have a jar where he kept all the little boys ears he cut off because of their wiggling. I can still remember the sound of the vacuum system connected to his clippers (still the only one I've ever seen) which prevented the little clipped hairs from getting all over you during the haircut. (You don't think this is a big deal until you go to a barber in Memphis, your first week ever living anywhere other than your hometown, and having him use a Shop Vac to suction all the hair off your face, neck and head when he's done....TRUE STORY!). There were always deer heads hanging on the wall, sometimes other animals too, along with polaroids of deer, turkey or fish that had been caught or killed by his customers. His wall was a grown man's equivalent to a mamma's refrigerator where pieces of pride were put on display for all to see. I can still remember the mystery of the blue or green liquid he soaked the combs in (I still don't know if that was Kool Aid or antifreeze).I can still smell the air, a mixture of talcum powder, aftershave, musk and Brille cream along with sweat and oil from the farmers and factory workers who stopped in while they were "in town" to get a quick trim. I loved getting a glass bottle Sun Drop from the old fashioned drink machine while I waited (you know the kind with the small glass door on the right where you would pull the bottle out horizontally?), and then put it in the wood crate return box when I was done. I learned a lot about life listening to the stories, lies, jokes and politics the old men discussed while I waited for my turn in the chair. I can still hear the sticatto, "Ah-Ah-Ah" laugh (reminiscent of the Count from Sesame Street) as loud as a siren that J.C. would bellow after telling you a joke. He seems to instinctively be able to read each patron to know exactly how much to talk and how much to listen. Some guys want a conversation, others want to listen to stories, some want to talk (barbers are a lot like therapists), others want to sit in silence (this may be the only place they get peace and quiet). This is the barbers equivalent to a doctors bedside manor. Some have got it, others don't. Some have it but can't give a good haircut, so when you find one like J.C. who can do both, you've found a pearl you better treasure. I can remember turning sixteen and going in there for the first time by myself. I got and paid for my own haircut, with no mamma to tell him how it needed to be done. I don't know if I've ever felt more like a man than in that moment. It was as if I had been initiated into a club, crossed over a rite of passage and everyone in there was silently consenting, "You're one of us now." And I remember beaming with joy the first time I went back in and brought my son to get a haircut and helped him climb up into that little leather booster chair and with every pump of that hand lever my pride swelled bigger and bigger. And I grinned as he warned me to make sure my son sat still because, "I wouldn't want to slip and cut this boys ear off", and then saw my boy's eyes widen in terror. I still smile at the thought of four generations of Britton men sitting in that chair as my uncle J.C. did what he did, dozens of times a day, for 50 years. I loved the simplicity of it all. No appointments needed, just come in, wait your turn, take a seat, "A little off the sides, the back, the top" was all the instruction he needed, and then let the man do his work. He was like a sculptor only his tools were shears and scissors. Then with a light dusting of his soft hair brush to clean off any hair the vacuum missed, and you were on your way, looking, and feeling like a million bucks. I loved the consistency of a trip to J.C.'s. You always knew what you were going to get. Years would go by and my hair in photographs would always stay the same because he always got it right. And you don't realize how important that is until you have to go somewhere else and they don't get it right. I always loved, and still do, going to J.C.'s for a haircut (although I confess I snuck down to Haygood's City Barber Shop occasionally to get shaved with the hot towel, warm shaving cream and straight razor, followed by the powder....you have not lived as a man until you have experienced this....the closest thing to pampering a man is allowed to enjoy and still retain his man card, short of being petted by his mamma). To this day the buzzing of clippers soothes and calms me and has on occasion put me to sleep. I have no idea how long he plans to continue, but I'm glad that his son Keith has been cutting two chairs down from him for I know nearly 30 years, so even when uncle J.C. holsters his scissors and clippers cousin Keith will continue the tradition. Don't go to J.C.'s looking to get manscaped or manicures. Go there to celebrate one of the simple pleasures of being a man....a good haircut.

My Life: The Musical (Once He Finds Us)

Have you ever stopped to consider that the absolute first qualification for becoming a Christian is not that you believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God (that is actually step #2), but to be a sinner? If you have no sin you are not lost and therefore do not need to be saved through Christ. Christianity is a religion for sinners. And while no disrespect is intended toward Paul when he describes himself as the "chief of sinners" (1 Timothy 1:15), I would argue that I am at least a Deputy Chief of sinners. I do my best to be slow to judge concerning others because I know first hand that no matter how low you go He can lift you high enough to sit with Him in heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6) and that if you don't watch your step you can fall back just as low (1 Corinthians 10:12). There is often a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning (to quote Jimmy Buffett). If this is the soundtrack to my life, then this cut is a Gospel song. The song is "Once He Finds Us" and is written and performed by Todd Snider. Todd Snider is a self described hippie, and although he and I would find ourselves on opposite sides of many issues, one thing we can sing in perfect harmony is this song. I don’t know how I found Jesus I don’t care now he’s in my heart And once he finds us He never leaves us No matter how far we fall apart I used to wonder what I was missing I used to think that I was missing things Now the words of calmer voices Sound like angels bowing strings He was there when nobody else was He was there when the work was thin He was there when my father left us I am here now to work for him With the exception of the line about my father leaving us (which he has never done), when I hear this song in my mind I see a video montage of my life on a loop. When I "found Jesus" (or did He find me?), I wasn't honestly looking. If anything, I accidentally (providentially?) bumped into Him. Regardless, He saved me, my marriage, my life, my family. And in the years since, my life has fallen apart several times and yet here He still is, putting the pieces back together, just like He promised He would ("He hath anointed me to....heal the brokenhearted" Luke 4:18). I have sat alone with Him when I saw my job disappear, despite having a new wife, a new baby and a new house, only to see Him appear with the answers and solutions. She has heard me say a dozen times, while looking back on our twenty years, "How did we get here?" Truth is, I don't know how I found Jesus, and I don't care now, He's in my heart. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cp6ShA-Fd0I (for some reason it isn't letting me embed the video, but if you want to see it, copy the youtube link above and paste it in your web browser. It's worth a watch).

Dear Taylor Swift,

Let me begin by saying, in the interest of full disclosure, that I am not a fan. However, I acknowledge your obvious talent as both a performer and songwriter. There have been a few of your songs that I actually like very much (Mean, which I think is a brilliant response to your critics, of whom, I am one; and also Fifteen which I think captures the age perfectly, and although I hate to admit it as a middle aged man, but We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together is addictive). I've actually seen you live in concert, thanks to a son who wanted to take a young lady, who considered herself your biggest fan, to see you in Nashville. Not my thing, but you put on a good show. I also applaud you in how you have made the transition from teen sensation to grown woman without selling your body and sexuality to do it, unlike most of your predecessors and peers (I'm talking to you Britney, Christina, Miley and Selena). You are very successful and I wish you even more, but would you allow me to give you a little advice from a grey beard? You are in the news as much for your dating as you are for your music. I realize when you are famous everything you do is news (Britney Spears was recently in the news for her grocery list while shopping; as a side note, if you consider Britney Spears buying groceries news, you really need to reevaluate your life), but you need to see how you have participated in the feeding frenzy. You have dated a number of celebrity guys during your career and a lot of people have made fun of this. I have a theory why these relationships haven't lasted, which I will keep to myself for now. While not excusing the mean spirited vitriol cast upon you, you might benefit from recognizing how you have been guilty of the same things. You have developed a reputation for exposing the shortcomings, faults and failures of your ex boyfriends in songs. While I realize songwriting is a powerful way of expressing emotions, yours are generally so autobiographical that the only emotion conveyed is vengeance. Without calling them by name you so clearly identify them that it becomes a public shaming. Granted, they may have acted like jerks and hurt you, but at least what they did was in private, between the two of you, where it would stay if you didn't use your bully pulpit of packed arenas, music television and top 40 country/pop radio to make very public what would have been private dirty laundry. When you do this you lose the ability to claim that you are being picked on by the media, message boards and comedians. At least you have a venue to fight back, whereas the objects of your song lyrics can't, at least not without being seen as a jerk. I realize you have no reason to listen to an anonymous, middle aged man, but I think you're a great kid, er, young woman, that has been a good role model for young girls in so many ways. I just hate to see you set the tone for young ladies without your talent and resources to follow and be hurt in the process. You see, in the hallways, classrooms, message boards, Facebook pages and tweets of their peers, it will be open season from the bullies on these young ladies. And they won't have a legal team, manager and publicist to help fight their battles. I hope this advice is taken as it was intended to be given, with kindness and good will. Keep writing hits, selling records, making millions, winning awards, packing arenas and dating boys (although I would advise you get away from celebrities and look for a real, normal down to earth guy) until you find the right one. P.S. I hope you don't write a song about this.

The Name Game

Years ago She and I read a book on marriage that suggested spouses actually speak one another's names when addressing each other. Don't just refer to him/her, the book said, as: honey, darling, sweetie, baby, sugar or big stupid head (what She would sometimes call me affectionately as part of an inside joke), but say their name. There is power in a name (if you don't believe that then you must not have even gotten in trouble and had your mother call you by your full name). I love hearing my name come out of Her mouth. Although, when she writes about me, she simply refers to me as "B" which I absolutely love for some reason that even I'm not quite sure of. When writing, I refer to my wife as She or Her and my boys as the Oldest and Po. But names do matter. That's why in the early 80's a weight loss product was released, but failed miserably due to an unfortunate name coupled with bad timing. You have likely seen many ads for Dexatrim, but never AYDS diet chocolates. Now, all of this was written to get to the real point of my blog: I love names! I have a list of names in my phone right now. What are they for? Either I'll convince Her to convert our family into the Duggers (19&Counting) or else they will have to become names for pets. I just love names. Picking the names for our boys was one of my favorite things. I had a few original ideas (Wrigley) which She vetoed, and we even had a name picked out until the week before the Oldest was born (Tucker). I scoured through one of those 1,0001 baby name books (which now are like 1,000,001 baby names) before we went with one that we stumbled across in a Golf Digest. I love names. So here is my list of names I love and where they come from. Pet names: Tujague (pronounced "two-Jack", it's the name of a restaurant in Nola), speaking of which, I also love the name Nola for obvious reasons. Also there is Tipitina (a famous music venue in, you guessed it, New Orleans, which derives it's name from a Professor Longhair song by the same name), Boudin (a Cajun sausage pronounced "Boo-Dan", just because I love to say it), Orpheus and Endymion (two of my favorite Mardi Gras krewes), and finally there is Akasha (fictional Egyptian queen from a favorite book). I think when the boys grow up and leave the house She and I will just get a bunch of dogs so that I can use up all of the names I like. I do also like a lot of names for people too, but I don't anticipate having the privilege of naming any more children. But if I did, it would likely be Lola, Marley and Talulah for girls. Maybe that will be the names of my granddaughters and I can pile them in the truck with all the dogs, Tujague (the black lab), Nola (a teacup chihuahua for Her), Tipitina (an Australian shepherd), Boudin (a mutt), Orpheus (a chocolate lab), Endymion (a teddy bear dog) and finally Akasha (my Siberian Husky), and go riding dirt roads and smelling honey suckle. I fully realize this is likely the most bizarre, random, throw away blog I've ever written, but for whatever reason this is what was ricocheting around my brain today and you just happened to get caught in the crossfire.

"My Life": The Musical (Wiser Time)

If you have done even just a cursory reading of my blog, you quickly realized that music is a very important part of it. I love music so much that I often annoy my family by speaking in song lyrics (I will often answer questions or make comments that are actually song lyrics when they fit the conversation or reference a song/band when something someone says is actually a song lyric, i.e. - If someone said, "Do you have the time" I would interrupt and finish their sentence, "to listen to me whine, about nothing and everything all at once", quoting Green Day's "Basket Case." This previous habit, I am told, can be very annoying, but also lots of fun). Music is always playing in our home so it stands to reason that I would write about it a lot. I have written (and will continue) to write about songs I cannot sing. I have written about songs that were stuck in my head at the moment. And now, I am going to start writing about songs that would be found on the soundtrack of my life. I tell Her all the time that I wish real life came with a soundtrack, that music you hear in the background of key scenes from television and movies. Well, it doesn't, but that doesn't mean I can't make my life a musical. Through my blog I am going to set my life story to music. Beginning with this post, and hopefully in many future posts, I will be writing about songs that, to me, identify perfectly with "where I was at" and what I was feeling at the moment. For the last few weeks I've been jotting down songs as they've come on the radio (for the under 25 generation, "radio" was where we listened to our music before the invention of iTunes, Spotify, Pandora and Grooveshark). I have compiled quite a long list, which should provide me with lots to write about (which has been a problem for awhile because I have been struggling with writer's block). Anyway, without further delay, I will "put the needle on the record" (and as M.A.R.R.S. said) "pump up the volume and "let the music play" (a nod to 80's artist Shannon). Two facts about my life: #1 - I do A LOT of traveling, and #2 - The Black Crowes is my favorite band. (Side note, although I don't really edit my work, as the run on sentences, misplaced modifiers, split infinitives and dangling participles prove, and my writing would be best described as verbal/conversational as opposed to textual/literary, I spent ten minutes debating if that last sentence should have been is or are; The Black Crowes is my favorite band or The Black Crowes are my favorite band? Although the word Crowes is plural, the band is singular, so I went with is, thanks Mrs. Long and her fifth grade English grammar class for that one). Alright, "back to the lecture at hand" (you hardcore music fans probably caught that ;). I travel, I love The Black Crowes. The Oldest asks me all the time which Black Crowes song is my favorite and I never can give a definitive answer, but I do know whenever I am traveling, the answer is "Wiser Time." The brothers Robinson wrote this song as a description of life on the road, and there are days where I feel like this song is playing in the background, and not just in my head or on my stereo as I travel down the interstate from one stop to the next. The lyrics are as follows: No time left now for shame Horizon behind me, no more pain Windswept stars blink and smile Another song, another mile You read the line every time Ask me about crime in my mind Ask me why another read song Funny but I bet you never left home Chorus: On a good day, it's not every day We can part the sea And on a bad day, it's not every day Glory beyond our reach Seconds until sunrise Tired but wiser for the time Lightning 30 miles away Three thousand more in two days So why is it that this song helps to tell my story? A few lines really connect with me powerfully. "Horizon behind me, no more pain" (my family has heard me say dozens of times concerning mistakes and pain and problems, "Breathe in, breathe out, move on). "Another song, another mile" (song after song is what passes the mindless miles that pile up traveling the interstate). "Ask me why another road song, funny but I bet you never left home" (simply put, to understand the power of "road songs" you are going to have to spend some time away from home. You can't miss a place you never leave). "30 seconds till sunrise" (I do much of my driving early in the morning to avoid traffic which allows me to watch a lot of sunsets), "tired but wiser for the time" (traveling is exhausting but I have learned so much about myself on those long trips by myself). "Lightning 30 miles away, 3,000 more in two days" (Just like a storm just keeps on passing through, and although it is slow moving it will be a long way off shortly because it never stops moving, I do the same). Perhaps my favorite part of the song is the chorus, which actually has nothing to do in my mind with traveling, but everything to do with Her. "On a good day, I know it's not everyday, we can part the sea, and on a bad day, I know it's not everyday, glory beyond our reach" (I think the songwriters, who are brothers known for their tempestuous relationship, are, I believe, writing about themselves, I couldn't have said it better about us. When we have a good day, and no it's not everyday, although it is most days, we can work miracles, there's nothing we can't do together. And when we have a bad day, and thankfully those aren't everyday, not even many days, we are still close enough to perfect to see it, even if it is slightly beyond our grasp that day). This was way longer than I intended, and perhaps more informative than you were interested, but this song has to be on the soundtrack of my life, and I hope it brings a little music to yours. In case you are interested in hearing it, here is the video.