On Sunday we took Franklin to get his hair under control. It's been hotter than...well, hotter than I'd like it to be, ideally, and Frank's noggin has been sweatin' like a glass of ice water sitting on the kitchen counter. His mom and I took him down to the barber shop at the end of the block where I get my beauty serviced and by all estimates, they do a good job. Now, it's not traditional in Taiwan to take pictures of a baby getting his first haircut, so everyone involved thought I was just a little odd. I didn't point out that making a calligraphy brush with a child's baby hair was just a bit odd, and the local tradition of keeping the stub of the child's umbilical cord and encasing it in plastic for posterity is something about which I would scoff if I were not a well-educated, non-judgemental foreinger.
They gave us the option of Franklin sitting alone in the chair, or on my lap. I told them I would prefer to take a few pictures and if they'd wait just a minute or two, his mother would be in to sit with him. Honest. She's coming. See, I didn't make it up, here she is. They're about as impatient to start a haircut as my sister Gretchen is to get new batteries for her walkman.
Despite being a little anxious at the very beginning, Franklin learned to enjoy the warm vibrations of the electric clippers and we thought he was going to fall asleep. Haircuts in Taiwan have a way of being very relaxing.
Here's the end product. Not bad for 30 minutes' work.
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