Same-Same…but Different
So, don’t know about you but for me, the barber shop experience ain’t what it used to be.
Sure, there was that rough start and all the kicking and screaming and crying…but what are you supposed to do when some stranger about ten times your size comes at you with a white coat and scissors while your own dad is holding you down preventing the getaway? (I might add my first trip to the dentist went down easier than chocolate milk at recess.)
When I was an early teen and large wooly mammoths were still roaming around Wilshire Boulevard, my M.O. was a haircut every two weeks and full out arguments with Al and Joe over stuff like sports, religion, and politics. And maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea to choose debate opponents who are coming at your head with sharp instruments.
Another fave was Arnold; and he cut hair for all kinds of professional boxers and even the guys from Los Lobos. And Arnold would even make time in his “schedule” so that I could be hangin’ out when prizefighters had their actual cauliflower ears lowered (how cool is that?)
Once, Arnold lost so much weight one of his prodigal customers didn’t even recognize him. The guy went on for about 10-minutes describing the “short, fat, and ugly” barber that used to own the shop. And yeah, he still stayed for the haircut…and didn’t lose even a single erythrocyte.
These days, I get trimmed, dyed, and styled every week. And if I ever come in looking stranger than fiction it’s not because of the professional trimming and dying; it’s more likely my strictly amateur styling and totally distorted self-image that’re at work.
And that brings me to Azelle, who happens to be an unbelievable upgrade over guys with cauliflower ears.
Azelle just might be the sweetest, most thoughtful young woman to ever wash away the gray.
Last trip into the salon (and I won’t say that out loud), Azelle had just returned from a 2-week volunteer stay in Cambodia. She was super-excited and I woulda been totally happy just sitting there looking at the pictures and listening to the narrative.
Folks don’t go to Cambodia instead of Disney World. Azelle went to make a difference for young women, often consumed by the practice of sex/slave trade at a very early age (as young as 5-6 years old.)
In her two weeks visiting Cambodia, Azelle did her part teaching a skill that maybe a handful of young women might use as a ticket to a real life and even happiness in a once proud, now demolished culture resigned to a Third World survival mode for the last forty years. And the thing about hope is the ripple it generates.
I asked Azelle about her perspective on things since her return. Her response began with some history; she was raised to look for opportunities to help others. Azelle described her trip as scary, exciting, and the chance of a lifetime; she admitted to an emotional letdown on coming back home. There were things she saw so disturbing that she couldn’t even begin to share and there were bonds generated with her fellow volunteers and grateful Cambodian young women that would last forever.
Azelle assured me she wouldn’t hesitate returning to Cambodia and resuming a commitment to a decidedly uphill cause. And she couldn’t believe how easy it was handling the everyday stuff that used to be so frustrating.
Cambodian women had a philosophical outlook on the bond that links us all. “Same-same…but different” seemed to surface as the answer to many of Azelle’s questions.
There’s not much more than a speck of a difference in the DNA we all share. The magic is in “but different.”
Azelle, thanks for being different…as in special.