I remember a Christmas about 20 years ago. As I type this, I realize, wow, I'm now at the age where I can say things like, 'I remember a Christmas about 20 years ago.' Anyway I was probably 9 or 10, and what I remember is that I was at my grandparent's house for Christmas and it was determined that I needed a haircut. Of course, I didn't think I needed a haircut. It was probably my dad who thought I needed a haircut. If it had been up to me, I never would have had my hair cut when I was young. Whatever the reason, I remember my dad taking me to the barber, an old black man with gray hair and fingers that smelled like cigarettes. I could barely sit still in his chair. It doesn't make sense now, but for some reason, when you're a kid, having your hair cut is almost the equivalent of having reconstructive dental surgery. How could this be? I'll tell you straight-up: I don't know. I mean, it doesn't HURT to have your hair cut, does it? Did it then? Have we all just forgotten? Are young hair follicles different from adult hair follicles? And over time, do we all just forget our tortured childhoods filled with visions of scissors soaking malevolently in alcohol, waiting to perform their deadly operations? Do you think?

Probably not. Still, it was not a pleasant ordeal for me, and just because I don't remember why or how this was so, doesn't make it any less true.

Anyway, I managed to sit through this hair-cutting business and, in the end, was terribly unhappy with the outcome. It's hard to imagine being pre-occupied with the way one looks at 9 or 10 years old, but it certainly was the case that I was not happy with my new haircut, and I felt downright out of sorts about the whole thing. I suppose it's the first time I remember being neurotic and therefore should probably be celebrated as a glorious beginning to an inspiring pattern of neuroses. It wasn't necessarily that the cut was too short; it wasn't even that the style was terrible. It was just simply that there was nothing very spectacular about it at all. This lack of anything striking really bummed me out. Certain bits stuck out in places where they shouldn't have. And other bits didn't stick out at all when they should have. It was just very disappointing.

And this is what I remember most about the whole thing: I remember telling my dad (probably because of the season), 'It's like a Christmas tree without the decorations.' So dramatic I was. I thought I was drawing such a poignant metaphor. Of course, my dad thought this was very funny and laughed, which made me all the more upset.

I don't remember much else about that particular Christmas. Most of my Christmas memories kind of blur together into one large category called 'Childhood Christmas' and are pretty much distinguished by the location of each. I probably had at least 5 or 6 Christmas holidays at my grandparent's house. But they all kind of meld into one 'grandparent-house-Christmas' memory. I have similar categories for 'Christmas Holidays in Houston,' 'Christmas holidays in Dallas,' etc. But that one line I remember: 'It's like a Christmas tree without the decorations.' In the end, all my feelings of unfairness in the world over the state of my hair boiled down to that one remark.

Two days ago I got my hair cut. It's like a Christmas tree without the decorations.

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