I don't recall when the transition occurred --- perhaps high school or college --- but at some point in time Rayson decided to stop receiving haircuts from our parents and started to do so on his own. And when that happened, he would start cutting mine as well.
I've never really liked getting my hair cut, mainly because it seemed like more effort than it was worth. If it were up to me, I would just shave my head and stay bald (which I have done). Or grow it out and have a ponytail (which I have tried to do). Looking at past photos of myself now... What was I thinking! haha
My nonchalant attitude towards my appearance caused much embarrassment of those around me, including Rayson who would regularly remind me. And so he would cut it for me. We would cram into our small bathroom, line the floor and sink with newspaper, and sometimes turning on the heater for those colder weather seasons. He'd ask what I'd want, and I didn't care, so he pretty much had free reign to do with my head what he wanted. Since I was taller, he'd tell me to squat, or he'd climb onto the tub to get a better angle. We'd eventually get me a stool to make it easier for him.
But it was those times when he cut his own hair that would be something to remember: he would strip down to his birthday suit. I suppose it was a means of cutting out the middle man: why clean hair from clothes or bring out those plastic haircutting bibs, especially since you're just gonna shower afterwards?
And how do I know this? He would sometimes walk around the house in the nude, or leave the bathroom door wide open. No shame when it came to being around immediate family, though he didn't feel that same way doing so at a gym locker room or hospital.
Once the cancer took away his sight & limited his physical mobility, our roles changed, and now I started cutting his hair. It was a humbling moment.
These days I go out and pay to see a barber, but I will always treasure those times together. Thanks for being my barber for all those years, Rayson.
I've never really liked getting my hair cut, mainly because it seemed like more effort than it was worth. If it were up to me, I would just shave my head and stay bald (which I have done). Or grow it out and have a ponytail (which I have tried to do). Looking at past photos of myself now... What was I thinking! haha
My nonchalant attitude towards my appearance caused much embarrassment of those around me, including Rayson who would regularly remind me. And so he would cut it for me. We would cram into our small bathroom, line the floor and sink with newspaper, and sometimes turning on the heater for those colder weather seasons. He'd ask what I'd want, and I didn't care, so he pretty much had free reign to do with my head what he wanted. Since I was taller, he'd tell me to squat, or he'd climb onto the tub to get a better angle. We'd eventually get me a stool to make it easier for him.
But it was those times when he cut his own hair that would be something to remember: he would strip down to his birthday suit. I suppose it was a means of cutting out the middle man: why clean hair from clothes or bring out those plastic haircutting bibs, especially since you're just gonna shower afterwards?
And how do I know this? He would sometimes walk around the house in the nude, or leave the bathroom door wide open. No shame when it came to being around immediate family, though he didn't feel that same way doing so at a gym locker room or hospital.
Once the cancer took away his sight & limited his physical mobility, our roles changed, and now I started cutting his hair. It was a humbling moment.
These days I go out and pay to see a barber, but I will always treasure those times together. Thanks for being my barber for all those years, Rayson.
BY PATRICK PU, BROTHER