One of my favorite
story from the book…
All
I really need to
know I learned in kindergarten by Robert Fulghum
Read on:
Hair grows at the rate
of about half an inch a month. I don’t know where he got his facts, but Mr.
Washington came up with that one when we were comparing barbers. That means
that about eight feet of hair had been cut off my head and face in the last
sixteen years by my barber.
I hadn’t thought much
about it until I called to make my usual appointment and found that my
barber had left to go into building maintenance. What? How could he do this to me? My
barber. It felt like a death in the family. There was so much more to our
relationship than sartorial statistics.
We started out as
categories to each other: “barber” and “customer.” Then we become “redneck
ignorant barber” and “pinko egghead minister.” Once a month we reviewed the
world and our lives and explored our positions. We sparred over civil rights
and Vietnam and a lot of elections. We became mirrors, confidants, confessors,
therapists, and companions in an odd sort of way. We went through being thirty
old and then forty. We discussed and argued and joke, but always with a certain
thoughtful deference. After all, I was his customer. And he was standing there
with a razor in his hand.
I found out that his
dad was a country policeman, that he grew up poor in a tiny town and had
prejudices about Indians. He found out that I had the same small-town roots and
grew up with prejudices about Blacks. Our kids were the same ages, and we
suffered through the same stages of parenthood together. We shared wife stories
and children stories and car troubles and lawn problems. I found out he gave
his day off to giving free haircuts to old men in nursing homes. He found out a
few
good things about me, too, I suppose.
I never saw him outside
the barber shop, never met his wife or children, never sat in his home or ate a
meal with him. Yet he became a terribly
important fixture in my life. Perhaps a
lot more important than if we had been next-door neighbors. The quality of our
relationship was partly created by a peculiar distance. There’s a real sense of
loss in his leaving. I feel like not having my hair cut anymore, though eight
feet of hair might seem strange.
Without realizing it,
we fill important places in each others lives. It’s that way with a minister
and congregation. Or with ate guy at the corner grocery, the mechanic at the
local garage, the family doctor, teachers, neighbors, co-workers. Good people,
who are always “there,” who can be relied upon in small, important ways. People
who teach us, bless us, encourage us, support us, and uplift us in the
dailiness of life. We never tell them. I don’t know why, but we don’t.
And, of course, we fill
that role ourselves. There are those who depend on us, watch us, learn from us,
and take from us. And we never know. Don’t sell yourself short. You
may never have proof of your importance, but you are more important than you
think.
It reminds me of an old
Sufi story of a good man who was granted one
wish by God. The man said he
would like to go about doing good without knowing about it. God granted
his wish. And then God decided that it was such a good idea, he would grant
that wish to all human beings. And so it has been to this day.
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