The kid

 

 He  entered the shop then placed his son on the barbers chair. The child was shocked when he found himself in a barber shop.

“Cut his hair “the father demanded solidly.

That man frowned so long , His mouth,   it seemed, was etched in an eternal grimace.

  The child was about six years old. His face was as silent as glass, his eyes were a fathomless blue and, His golden hair crowned his face as an angel's halo. Beautiful enough to make you love and handle him fondly for ever but there was no emotion in those blue eyes, no innocent curiosity, and no smile played upon his delicate lips.   .

  The father stood beside me head as I began to cut the child’s hair . The little boys body began to tremble   when he saw the towel ,the scissors and fearing of what the barber may do.

“Stop “said the father decisively, and it  stopped.

  I always know that cry is the manner of  babies and weak oppressed  people when they suffer. It was strange to see this child stop at just one word . He just sobbed once. 

I was reminded of my primary school days, when the teacher would frighten me with just a look. I remembered the same feelings of fear and oppression. I passed urine of panic then.  I was only one or two years older than this child then.

I was full of horror in spite of the fact that it was the break.

I was one or two years older than that child.

I continued with the hair cut brokenheartedly. It was hard just standing there watching the tears well up in his eyes, and knowing the pain in his heart. I wanted to beg the stonehearted father to just let him cry. Let him release all those pent up tears and be a child. I was just about to when he turned to me and asked, "Do you clean these tools?"

That question simply means “Are you dirty?! “.I was furious

I was mean talking to him. I hate his movements around me with each touch of the scissors.

 “Yes” I replyed shortly.

He then began to lecture me on various diseases and plagues that could be spread through unsanitary barber's tools. It seemed to me that he had prepared that lecture before even coming for he knew so much about it. I felt that if the haircut didn't end soon I would punch him. He classified me with other filthy barbers. Picking at every speck of dirt in my shop. On and on he went.

  His ranting filled my ears I felt he was riding on my shoulder and moving…his lecture included most of dirty barbers.

   I know that frown and concrete way of dealing with others is all bluster. Empty words to cover one’s flimsy. All these questions to hide your own flaws. Attack everyone you meet before he discovers your wobbly and crushed soul. Oppress the lower always while you are the biggest oppressed one. The icy false surface which hide water and lost in a lower place of it. I looked down at the boy who had become more silent and withdrawn with every word of his father. The tears were gone, replaced by an emptyness that squeezed my heart.

“Is it nice darling?” I asked the child with smile.

He didn’t respond.  His eyes were blank, like he was off in his own little world. The father began moving around his head pointing to different spots. "Here...here...here...." He would say, and point to imaginary flaws in the cut. Reluctantly I fixed the places he pointed to. He then paid me three pounds and carried the child, the thing, out of the shop. I had a strong desire to walk out of the shop to watch them. It was the first time I had seen a child without any interest in the sights around him. He was just a doll.

Ended