What's your shop like?

As I age, I find myself reminiscing on the past a lot more. Deep in thought, replaying experiences, based on feelings my body remembers. My senses doing the heavy lifting. My mind putting it together. The sounds and smells, the feel, and energy. Wrist twisting, like a stir fry(whip it) and it’s 4k. Vivid memories. Things I hope I never forget.

SInce as far back as I could remember, I’ve always been an observer. I mean, technically, I’m looking, but what I do is listen. To everything. One of the many beauties about our senses is the way they come together. Like hair clippers being turned on. I could see the motion and I observe the action but it’s the sound I remember distinctly. There’s this crack noise it makes that is truly unique.

If you know you know. 

I remember knowing what step the barber was at, just by the feel and sound of his instrument of choice. The bigger clippers were always on the warmer side. When he went against the grain of my hair, with those clippers, I knew I was close to a “Now and Later” candy (which I’m pretty sure we pronounced, “nah a lay duhs”, like one word). It wasn’t until we moved to Avenue D that I realized it wasn’t a haircut thing. It's a barber thing.

The communities were tight knit. It was our own little world and the barbershop was a staple in the community. We all went to the same shop. Your first barber was usually your Pops barber. One of your many inheritances. Usually in walking distance, a family member would go with you until they believed you were able to go alone. Then you did. Then you went to school and kids would laugh at your fade. Then your cousin agreed. Then he took you to a spot a couple blocks up. Then you knew better. 

I’m definitely speaking from experience. 

As I aged, the talk in the shop made more sense. I wasn’t trying to find ways to distract myself. I was listening. Trying not to be distracted. I mean, Who’s the best MC, Biggie? Jay-z? Or Nas? The world was changing and these Black Kings lay capes on us and engage in conversations that, depending on your age, you weren’t allowed to take part in. We understood that. We cherished it. We mimicked these conversations while riding through the park. One of us on the handle bars, the other confident in his ability to navigate. 

We moved a lot during my youth. Different parts of Brooklyn mostly but our furthest move was New York to Massachusetts. Two completely different ecosystems, I learned that quickly, but our culture is the culture. A couple blocks up, there’s a shop. Upon entry, the smells and sound reassure me that I’m safe here. The conversations assure me that these are my people. And when I exit, I leave with knowledge and motivation. A sense of confidence that will carry me until my next visit.

“You got a cut?” 

You know it’s rhetorical, but you smile and confirm. 

The barbershop was where we got new music, wave grease, a fresh white tee and bootleg movies. The more traffic that passed through the shop, the better the quality of the bootleg. There’s always that one person standing up, blocking the camera. 

Anything and everything can be seen right in the palm of your hands. We’re too busy to walk into the barbershop and kick it. You gotta book an appointment. I understand barbers are providing a service, but what happened to the barbershop that I grew up in. When the elders spoke we listened. There wasn’t a subject in the world that the shop didn’t cover. Black people were safe to speak their mind. This is where “Game” is soaked up. Gems are discovered. Broken down, so we all take pieces.

What’s your shop like? 

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1L, 

Peace