In Praise of Mr. P.

By shear virtue of our humanity, we are creatures of relationship. Our ties to others not only define us -- as we are often like some puzzle piece in search of a neat placement in the correct position to form a particular picture -- but they also affirm, comfort, and even challenge us (At the least the good ones do).

And over time we come to understand the multi-faceted “intimacies” that we are capable of experiencing. The vast majority of which are probably platonic -- but no less holy.

One of mine is Mr. P. Mr. P. cuts my hair. Mr. P. has cut my hair since sometime in late 1994. Our relationship has outlasted that of my Ex- (who, in fact, was the reason that I originally relocated to Maryland, and my conduit to meeting Mr. P.!).

Mr. P. is an amazing man. He is one of my heroes.

He is first and foremost a great barber. He cuts my hair with such gentle care. I swear (and I recently told him this) that I could fall asleep while he’s cutting my hair. He works for a national franchise (and has done so for the last 15 years) in a storefront shop located on the main commercial street of a nearby local university town – really nothing special or unique.

So he gets a lot of business from college students -- NOT exactly a rich clientele. If I had money to invest, I would set him up in his own place. I’m sure it would be a goldmine.

Now to understand my admiration fully, you’ll have to know more about him. He is an immigrant from Viet Nam. He and his brother escaped the abject poverty of that war-ravished nation on a boat with others in the mid-1980’s. You remember? -- the “Boat People.” Their vessel remained adrift for over a month, and at one point was boarded by modern day pirates who pillaged them of their meager possessions, but, mercifully, did not executed them or floundered the boat. For days they languished under the brutal sun while sharks circled them. When they were finally discovered and taken to a refugee facility, Mr. P. was declared basically dead -- so weak and emaciated from the ordeal. Only his brother’s insistence saved his life. His brother would not leave Mr. P. behind, and so in the confusion and opportunity of that moment, he carried my friend ashore. Then he nursed him back to health

Together, they endured the inhumanity of life as refugees in a camp in Malaysia. He told me how new arrivals would be ignorant of the dangers posed by falling coconuts, and how literally people were killed after being struck by them on windy days. Eventually, they were tagged by a Catholic relief organization and sponsored to the U.S. I know this because after nearly a decade of visits, Mr. P. shared his story with me.

We have also talked about the dissolution of my relationship to my ex-, Mr. R., about the deaths of both of his parents and his return visits to Viet Nam to participate in various temple rites around this. As well as, stories from our various adventures -- Most recently, his to Singapore, and mine to Nicaragua.

I know that such relationships between clients and hairdressers are not that unusual. I do, however, believe that the journey that brought Mr. P. to this place in my life is. And how many people honestly think of the person who cuts their hair as a “hero?” I am so blessed to be able to.