Chuck The Barber

Mom, Chuck, Me, Grandpa

Yesterday I went to Molly's to get a haircut, we caught up, gossiped, commiserated, it was really nice. Its a very comforting experience for me and frequently makes me nostalgic.

For twenty years only one person cut my hair- Chuck The Barber. Chuck cut my grandpa's hair, my dad's hair, and my hair until he passed in 2004. Chuck was the resident barber at Rockford Memorial Hospital for a number of years before moving his practice to his basement. He was also an accomplished carpenter, half the furniture in my childhood home comes from the fluid surety of Chuck's hands.

As a child I didn't much like getting my hair cut, it made me squirm. As an adolescent I still didn't like it much because I was cultivating the long hair hippy look. My reluctance was always overshadowed though by my love for and desire to see Chuck. I always felt at home in his battered leather barber chair. It was soothing to hear my dad and Chuck go back and forth about golf, politics, and their mutual acquaintances. It was comforting to feel the confidence of Chuck's hands as he gently, almost elegantly, tilted my head one way then the other, quietly clipping a month or two of growth. I was always welcomed and assured by the smell of manly hair products, the low murmur of golf commentary from a black and white TV, the gentle hum of clippers. Chuck's shop was a place I felt truly at ease.

He gave me a final trim eleven years ago, I've thought of him every haircut since.