Scissors, Comb, and Shears

O. K. Grampa I'm ready!

I lost some hair the other day.

It disappeared the same old way;

A man I've known for fifty years

Applied his scissors, comb, and shears.

We met when I was but a lad,

An introduction from my dad.

I greeted him with childish tears,

The man with scissors, comb, and shears.

'Bout once a month on Saturday

It got to where I'd hear him say,

"It must be time to lower ears

And use the scissors, comb and shears."

 I hope he is being careful!

Through junior high my hair was short

While playing on a hardwood court.

He came to see most all our games

And even knew the players' names.

A jolly man he seemed to know

That hair styles change as young men grow.

To be accepted by my peers,

The hair soon covered both my ears.

We always had a lot to share

While I sat in the  barber chair.

He'd ask if I was college bound

And talk of girls went round and round.

Sit still while I get this part straight!

A small-town barber has a way

Of knowing what goes on each day.

Believes 'bout half of what he hears

While using scissors, comb, and shears.

From boy to man and in between

We two would view the changing scene.

I sure enjoyed his company

And barber shop philosophy.

One day he'll pack his tools away

And take a well-earned holiday.

He'll find himself an easy chair,

And someone else will cut my hair.

I knew Great Grampa would have a treat if I was good!

Now fifty years have come and gone

With hair cut short and hair left long.

My black hair now is silver gray

When it is cut on Saturday.

But Saturday will never be

The same without his chemistry.

He's left me treasured souvenirs

The man with scissors, comb, and shears.

By JON N. McCREADY

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