Anthony Zierhut

Yesterday my son Jack and I went to get a haircut at the local barber’s in a small shopping center tucked away at the foot of the hills behind our house. It looks like downtown Mayberry – small, quaint, nothing typical “LA” about it. The barber is in his late seventies or early eighties. I love it. It’s the only place I’ll go to get a haircut. Being eleven, Jack was not excited about being there, and told me as much, and how he hoped there wouldn’t be a long line. Well, not only was there no line, there was no barber. The place was empty, the lights and radio were on but no one minding the store. I called out, “hello”, but no answer. Then I noticed the cash drawer open – gulp! Having lived in the tough neighborhood of Hollywood for a few years, I suspected the worst, but this isn’t Hollywood and there was money dozing quietly in the drawer. Whew! Jack asked, “What do we do?” hoping, I suspect, I’d say let’s go home, because he looked rather disappointed when I told him to sit down and wait for a minute or two. Sure enough the old barber came in with a new cup of coffee he’d just purchased next door. That explained the cash drawer. He seemed a little surprised to see us there and asked Jack to hop up in the chair for a trim. I spent a few minutes sketching him while he got his haircut. Jack made some great funny faces at me while I drew, and I wished I drew faster to capture it. When it was my turn, Jack drew in my sketchbook too, but was a bit upset to find that my pencil didn’t have an eraser, and so decided he didn’t like his drawing any more. Oh well.