a n d e r s p o r t e r . c o m

Hope and Change and Haircuts

“Throughout America’s history , there have been some years that simply rolled into the next without much notice or fanfare. Then there are years that come along once in a generation–the kind that mark a clean break from a troubled past, and set a new course of action.”
–U.S. President elect Barack Obama
January 8, 2009

When I left my yet-to-be-furnished apartment earlier today, it was not to find furniture. I do need a chair or two… that IS true. But I’m not in a huge hurry to make it happen. There is something very liberating about not having any clutter around, not having any stuff. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that opportunity, and I have to say that I like it.

No, I left the apartment this afternoon because I wanted a haircut. I think I NEEDED a haircut, actually. So I walked through Alamo Square towards Fillmore Street, heading in that direction because I know that there is a Supercuts over there on Fillmore, around Geary, or a couple blocks away from Geary anyhow. I had seen it before and, since my last haircut cost 50 bucks, I knew that it was the place for me. 50 bucks for a cut is sinister. Rinse. Lather. Do not repeat.

Lots of people were out along the way–it was a brilliant weekend here in San Francisco. First of all, the weather was spectacular. Second of all, and most importantly, people are excited about the start of a new era in Washington. Tomorrow, January 20, 2009, marks perhaps THE most significant day in American history in MY lifetime, perhaps ever. Tomorrow the first African-American President of the United States, Barack Hussein Obama, will be sworn into office. A black man and his family are moving into the White House.

That fact alone embodies everything that makes America different from other countries. It is a place where anything can happen, where freedom is REAL, and where people can stand up and make themselves heard when their rights are being violated and their best interests are no longer being put forward. The American people have done that –and history is about to be made, changes are about to take place.

On my way to Supercuts, I passed an empty barber shop at a brisk pace, but then–after a quick double-take–slowed my steps and came to a stop. Here I was on the way to get a haircut and I had nearly walked right by an empty barber shop! Looking through the glass, I saw a black man–perhaps in his 40s–sitting in one of the barber chairs, reading a book. He clearly didn’t have any customers. And the mop on my head was clearly in need of some help.

I’d like to say that I just walked in and said DO IT UP, but I didn’t. I actually started walking again, and started thinking about the fact that this guy might not cut a white guy’s hair. And I didn’t mean that he might not cut white guy’s hair as a general rule, I was actually thinking that he might not often or have ever cut white hair. I had no sooner had that thought than this one popped into my head–

ARE YOU FRIGGIN’ KIDDING ME? HAIR IS HAIR, YOU IDIOT!

–and I turned around and head back to ask if he had time to cut my hair. Looking up from his book as I walked through the door, he couldn’t exactly say that he was “busy.” Nor did he have any intention to do so. He cleared the seat for me, cloaked me and promptly got to work. Before starting, he asked me what I want, to which I characteristically replied,

“I just want it shorter than it is now.”

“Like a fade?”

“Yeah, like a fade, but maybe not so fade-y on the top,” I said.

“All right, so… short, then,” he replied.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m never good at haircut descriptions,” which is totally true–I never know what to say. “Just have fun with it.”

He paused and looked at me.

I continued: “Maybe that was the wrong thing to say…”

To which he replied: “Well it was if you don’t want to walk out of here with a mohawk…”

And so began the best haircut I’ve ever had. We talked about the energy in the air, we talked about Martin Luther King (a nation was celebrating his birthday and my barber’s got the shop open), we talked about Barack Obama (color of skin was mentioned, but capabilities were the focus) and we talked about failed marriages (I have had one, he has had two). We didn’t actually talk about my hair. All of that was, figuratively and literally, in his hands at this point.

I felt extremely lucky to be having my hair cut by that particular barber on that particular day before a certain particular historic event. It made me realize that we are not only all in this together, but that we all… have… hair. And it all needs to be cut. And snip snip is what Mississippi did. Yeah– Mississippi. He told me his real name, but I don’t remember it. What I do remember was–

“… but they call me Mississippi. Everybody calls me Mississippi.”

And before I could stop the stupid question, it came out: “Why do they call you Mississippi?”

“Well… I’m from Mississippi,” he said. And the great thing about how he said it was that he wasn’t trying to make me feel stupid or mock me for asking about it. No, he said it very matter-of-factly, and with a sense of pride. Well, I’m from Mississippi.

The haircut? Top notch. A bit of a fade, kind of mixed up with a mug shot version of Robert Downey, Jr. hair, if you can picture that. Yeah, I’m America’s next top model. Price: $10, with tip $13. Much more bang for the buck than Supercuts.

He gave me his card and invited me back when I need a trim. I am certain that I will take him up on that.

As I was walking out, I stopped, turned around, and said (and this is where it got more Spike Lee script-y than it was before), “I’m excited about tomorrow, Mississippi.”

To which he replied, “So am I man. So am I.”

Thank you, Mississippi

Happy Birthday, Dr. King

Congratulations, Mr. President

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