Small Wonders:

So I’m driving home the other day and we pass a barber shop. The kids notice the candy stick-like barber pole out front and ask what that means.

“I’m glad you ask,” I tell them, and proceed to enlighten them with what Wikipedia told me.

“In the Middle Ages,” I start, “barbers not only cut hair, but also performed surgery and tooth extractions. Oh, and they used leeches for bloodletting. A basin at the top of the pole represented the vessel in which the leeches were kept. A basin at the bottom of the pole represented the vessel which received the spilled blood. The pole itself represents the staff that the patients gripped for dear life during their procedures. The white stripes represent clean bandages and the red stripes represent, well you guessed it, blood-stained ones.”

The kids don’t ask me these kinds of questions anymore, and I now sleep on the couch.

When I sit in my barber’s chair, invariably, the first thing he asks me is this:

“The usual abbreviation?”

This kind of familiarity is something I think most men seek. It’s what makes us love our bartenders and is the same mysterious force that compels us to buy five of the same shirts when we find one we like.

Drive up Riverside Drive in Toluca Lake, just past the Trader Joe’s, and you’ll see the trademark red, white and blue spinning pole. An enormous sign announces, “Barber Shop.” It’s called Shear Pleasure, but don’t let the name fool you. This is a barber shop in the truest sense.

The place smells of hair tonic and musk and shoe polish, scents from a bygone era. They sell male grooming products that haven’t been purchased since Johnson was in the White House. There are TVs on the wall, big band music playing in the background and a guy that’ll shine your shoes for just a couple bucks. It’s clean, friendly and everyone’s a regular.

John’s my barber, and he’s been cutting hair for almost 50 years. He doesn’t ask me what conditioner I’d like, nor does he recommend a fabulous new deep hydrating volumizer treatment. I get my best dirty jokes from John, though I don’t think I’ve ever repeated one. I am regaled by his raspy wit while he takes a No. 4 razor to my mop. For 20 peaceful minutes, I am taken back to my childhood.