Baby Boomers... 50 Ain't Bad

SAM'S BARBER SHOP

IT'S TUCKED BETWEEN A CAR WASH AND A GAS STATION, ACROSS THE STREET FROM A FRANCHISED SANDWICH SHOP AND JAMMED IN NEXT TO A SHOPPING MALL.

SAM'S BARBER SHOP.

THIS SMALL, RED, BUILDING, WITH IT'S RED AND WHITE BARBER POLE, STILL SPEAKS THE LANGUAGE OF THE 50'S AND 60'S, THE LANGUAGE OF A GENTLER TIME IN AMERICA.

COMPASSION IS STILL SPOKEN AT SAM'S.

THIS MORNING, THE SHOP IS FULL.

A YOUNG CHILD IS SCREAMING IN THE BARBER CHAIR, WHILE THE FLUSTERED PARENTS STAND NEXT TO AN OLD MAN AT THE CASH REGISTER.

'HE DON'T LIKE THAT.'

THE YOUNG MOTHER STARED AT THE OLD MAN, WHO RETURNED A GENTLE SMILE.

'HE WANTS YA TO HOLD HIS HAND. HERE, I'LL SHOW YA.'

THE OLD MAN WALKED UP TO THE CHILD AND GENTLY HELD HIS HAND.

THE CRYING STOPPED.

'HE JUST DON'T WANNA BE ALONE. HE'S SCARED WHEN HE'S ALONE.'

THE RELIEVED MOTHER LOOKED AT HER CHILD, THEN BACK AT THE OLD MAN.

'THANK YOU.'

THE OLD MAN FLASHED A BIG GRIN THROUGH HIS TOBACCO STAINED TEETH.

'IT'S O.K.' HE SAID, 'YA GONNA TAKE HIS PITCHER WHEN YA GET HOME, WITH A CAMERA?'

'I DON'T KNOW,' REPLIED THE MOTHER, 'I GUESS I HADN'T THOUGHT ABOUT IT.'

'TAKE HIS PITCHER,' THE OLD MAN SAID, 'SEND IT TO HIS GRAMPA. BET HE'D LIKE THAT!'

THE CHILD WAS STILL SITTING QUIETLY IN THE CHAIR, HOLDING THE MAN'S HAND, WHILE SAM WORKED ON THE HAIRCUT.

'DO YA TALK TO HIS GRAMPA MUCH?' THE OLD MAN QUESTIONED THE MOTHER.

'NO, NOT AS MUCH AS I SHOULD.' THE MOTHER RESPONDED.

'YA, I KNOW. NOBODY'S GOT NO TIME NO MORE. BET HIS GRAMPA'S LONELY.' THERE WAS A SADNESS IN THE OLD MAN'S VOICE, WHILE THE MOTHER IS BEGINNING TO LOOK UNCOMFORTABLE.

'THERE YOU GO, SON.' SAM PULLED OFF THE SHEET WITH A FLOURISH.

THE OLD MAN CONTINUED TO HOLD THE CHILD'S HAND AS HE HELPED HIM OUT OF CHAIR.

THE CHILD RAN TO HIS MOTHER, WHO WAS PAYING SAM FOR THE HAIRCUT.