Rob's First Haircut

My aversion to going and getting my hair cut has been a constant throughout my life. Maybe it came from my dad and those crew cuts he gave me as a child, or maybe from having someone with scissors asking all sorts of questions about what I want that I never had any idea how to answer.

Fortunately when I was in California, I had a hair-cutting friend who was willing to cut my hair in exchange for my accompanying him when he sang at weddings and funerals. It worked out nicely -- he just cut my hair in a way that my mom approved of and never asked any difficult questions about what shape it should be in back!

But when I moved to Vancouver I lost my personal haircuts, so I went on a haircut-strike for several months. After about six months, friends started offering to loan me scrunchies to control my new hippie look. And Crystal testifies that she was starting to fall in love with me despite my hair. Clearly something had to be done. Crystal, sympathizing with my desperate straights, took me to her stylist Sherry. This was likewise an adventure, not because of Sherry's scissors (she's very kind and capable), but because her husband would sit and talk to me about theology in a very intense way while I was getting fixed up.


Well, enough of the history. With our move to England coming very soon, Crystal didn't want to repeat the Vancouver hippie experience. So with bravery and precision that would impress a surgeon, she took her first cut (literally!) at my hair. The feedback has been uniformly positive, but I'm not sure I'm willing to post the results on the web in full resolution quite yet.... But here's enough of a picture to prove that my head is still intact. Crystal has assured me that she'll keep practicing!