My father always cut my hair. We had a wonderful family friend who was a barber. I think he taught Dad how.
I was in third grade. My mother was an artist and I’m not sure why that’s important to this story. One day, for a reason I shall never know, Mom decided to cut my hair with Dad’s clippers. It was probably a work of art, but somewhere a few inches above my ears, she gave up trying to even it out. When Dad came home, the only salvageable resolution was a near shave. Now I realize that this would be in style today, but this always-wanting-to-be-liked third grade boy thought life was over.
Isn’t it funny how we can remember some of the movies of our lives frame by frame? I had to go to school the next day. My third grade teacher was Mrs. Anderson. She was old and tall, had reddish hair, and was somewhat stern. (third grade eyes and perception).
I couldn’t bring myself to enter the classroom. I don’t know how she knew I was outside the door. She opened the door, took a long look at me, thought for a moment, gave me a quick squeeze and marched me into the class. I have no recollection of what she told the class, but I do remember that the class loved my haircut and I loved Mrs. Anderson. I would have done anything for her.
I can still see her eyes when she saw me outside the door. I’m sure God has eyes like that. Somehow this story comes up when I look at people who are acting out in some way. It’s my reminder that there are times I need to see and perceive and then do for them what Mrs. Anderson did.
What I’d like done for me, if I were in their shoes.
Thank you Mrs. Anderson for showing me in life what Jesus taught me in words.