Old Spice Memories

My Dad went to the barber shop every Saturday morning. 

Like many men of his generation, particularly his military mates, it was a celebrated weekly ritual. A quick trim, the buzz of the back of his neck, and a hot shave. It was his version of a spa day.

I would often ask to go along. I loved everything about the barber shop; the musky smell of cologne, the thwack of the razors being sharpened on leather straps, the rumbling guffaws of the other men telling their tales. 

Even now, whenever I see a barber shop pole, a rush of nostalgia comes over me. A whiff of Old Spice and I am right back there, sitting with my Dad, wondering how I got to be so lucky.....

"Barbering is the act of creating without an eraser."