On The 8th Day Of Christmas, My Barber Gave To Me

....Some Middle Eastern History....

When he's done, the amount of hair on the floor says quite a bit about how much my barber has just taught me.

And this afternoon there were small mountains of dead keratin all over the place.

And precious little left on my head

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My friend, and barber, F., is from Lebanon.

And despite the fact that he has not had an easy life, or perhaps because of it, F. is more full of life than just about anyone else I know.

Today, for example, he was very excited to tell me about the arrival of snowshoe season.

Turns out you can get a full calendar year gondola ticket for Grouse Mountain for only $97 and F. plans to get the fullest use from his this winter tramping around in the snow like a middle eastern madman in gortex.

But please do not misunderstand me; unlike stupid snowboard kids F. always stays in-bounds.

****

Most of F.'s family still lives in Lebanon and he has often regaled me with tales of the olive groves and the vacation spots.

In fact, last year, when I was pondering a trip to Israel for work, he had pretty much convinced me to take a side-trip to visit the Bekaa Valley.

But then worldly events intervened and ended all and sundry thoughts of that.

But those events were not so worldly for F.'s family.

Because when I asked him about them today he was clearly saddened. All his relatives are O.K. physically, but fiscally, not to mention emotionally, they are crushed.

Then, at my urging, F. launched into a detailed history lesson filled with tales of sectarian strife, civil wars, and occupations, both benign and brutal.

He was still going strong a half hour later when the old lady who owns the second-hand store next door brought in a round of Christmas Caesar's that signaled the beginning of cocktail hour.

So F. decided to finish-up quickly instead of giving me a full-length lecture on the life and times of Michel Aoun, not to mention a buzzcut like I haven't had since my Mom first got her hands on a set electric 'Mohawk' clippers back when I was seven years old.

As I was tightening up my bike helmut the three notches it took to take up the slack generated by the mass of missing hair, F. slid into his barber's chair and began to gnaw on the celery from his Caesar.

Not wanting to miss my chance, I decided to ask him how the Americans could do the right thing and really, truly help the people of the Middle East.

As I did so I got ready to sit myself down again in one of the waiting area chairs figuring I was in for a long and convoluted answer.

But I needn't have bothered.

Because F. just sighed and gave me an answer that was shorter than my hair.

'All they have to do is leave, and leave us alone.'

Then he smiled wanly, took a gulp of his drink, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

On the spot, I made a mental note to get F. a nice pair of gloves, and maybe a really warm toque as well, before my next visit.

OK?


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The image above is a pencil drawing by David Floyd who, as far as I can tell, was never actually a barber or a cast member of 'The Andy Griffith Show'.

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