I finally caved and told him that I would try cutting his hair. We went into the bathroom with clippers, scissors and Kedar's over-grown hair. We came out of the bathrom 20 minutes later with tiny splinters of hair covering both of us and an uneven mop on top of his head.
We walked down the stairs and Kedar continued into the kitchen where the family that he was living with sat at the table. I lingered on the bottom step. Each face turned in our direction and shocked looks turned into stifled snickers as they took in the damage that I had inflicted. My face burned with humiliation.
I promised myself that I would never cut Kedar's hair again. Never.
Over eleven years later, there have been only two times, since that first haircut, that Kedar has paid to have someone else cut his hair. One was for our wedding and the other was about a year ago when our schedule was just too packed to squeeze in a haircut at home. He went to a Sports Clips on his lunch hour armed with a coupon.
Very few things have stayed the same since that first haircut. First, I like to think (or at least, I hope) that my skills have improved. Second, Kedar is no longer the only one at the mercy of my scissors; Conner and Ethan are also my regular customers. Lastly, there is nobody waiting in the kitchen to laugh at the final results. If anybody in the house laughs now, they know I will just get even with them the next time they are in need of my services.
