title: Remembering My Barber
date: Wed Jul 08 2026

# Remembering My Barber

I just went to get a haircut but when I
got there the chair my barber normally
uses was empty.  I asked the woman who
works there whether he wasn't in today,
or just out to lunch.  She told me he'd
died suddenly, and the funeral had been
last week.

He had only been my barber for a little
while, but he was a nice man, and a good
barber.  I get infrequent haircuts, but
I looked forward to seeing him again
each time I went.

So, I thought I'd spend a moment putting
down some of the things I remembered and
liked about him.

First, and I think this would matter to
him, he really was a good barber.  He
owned the shop and was head and
shoulders above the other barbers he
employed.  I used to be a barber myself
when I was a younger man--the first time
I went to his shop I took a seat and
watched them all working; seeing his
work I decided to wait for him.  As I
went back I realised there were lots of
of men who would rather wait another
hour to have him do it, and I was one of
them.

People who have never cut hair before
may not understand what it feels like to
get good at barbering.  When I watched
him work I thought about the time I
spent running scissors up and down a
door frame so that I could cut square,
masculine haircuts; learning to only
move your thumb as you cut, feeling your
shoulders and elbows and wrists work
together to raise your hands as
vertically as you could.  He was
slightly older than me, and I'm sure he
would have done the same thing.

He was also a kind man.  I am not a
great talker when I am having my hair
cut.  The woman, who today was so upset
as she broke the news to me, is normally
the life of the shop.  She's loud,
joking, and fun.  She'd be kidding
around with her client in the chair next
to me and my barber, and try to bring me
in on it.  I'd smile and nod along, and
my barber would let her know I'm
alright, I'm just quiet.

He loved that woman as a friend.  He
also loved the other man who worked
there.  My barber was a white guy from
the UK who loved football and drinking
and was a proper English bloke, but he
spoke openly in the shop about how much
the other man, a devout Muslim, had
taught him about being a man, a father,
and about the beauty of his faith.  Not
the kind of thing you always hear in
barber shops for those who don't know.
In fact, the kind of thing that might
cost you money.  But he just loved his
friends and told you all about what
beautiful people they were.

What will happen to the shop now?  The
woman told me they were just working and
keeping it going while they grieve.  I
don't know who now owns the shop, but
it is a gaudy little place right on the
edge of where new money is flowing
around some of the oldest buildings in
the city.  I hope it can stay and
survive him.  It is named after his
father, who ran it before him, but I'm
not sure if there is anyone now to take
it on.