If I did not know better I would assume that he came to visit us just to go to see Frank, the barber. I tag along for fun. The shop is comfortable no matter what time of year. The conversation is quiet, the pauses are sometimes long, but never awkward. The shop is peppered with sly smiles and gentlemanly smirks. Lives are caught up on. Grandchildren are growing and sitting patiently on neat chairs tucked into the back of the shop, waiting for the promised donut. A task is performed but both are so engrossed on catching up that sometimes payment is almost forgotten. Then from deep within a pocket, it is pulled out at the last minute. Dad enjoys the ritual and the cut. We leave Frank to sweep up and wave the next customer into his chair. We take a right out of the shop, chasing after the little ones who are already focused on the sweet treats two doors down. Dad catches a glance in the shop window and I quietly comment, "Frank does a great job."
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