Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
“There is a photograph from when I was six years old,” Mason said, his fingers fumbling with the dusty packing tape. “It is in the blue envelope from the lake trip.”
“The summer your grandfather passed?” I asked, sitting beside him on the wooden chair.
“The summer after,” Mason said. “I was starting first grade, and I had a terrible habit of playing with my father’s grooming scissors.”
He began pulling out yellowed school report cards, church bulletins, and small white envelopes filled with old negatives.
“My mother wanted to cancel my school pictures that year,” Mason said, his voice quiet as he shifted a stack of old report cards. “She said I looked like a little troublemaker and she did not want the neighbors seeing the proof.”
“Well, Evelyn has always cared about what the neighbors think,” I said.
“But Maribel did not care,” Mason said, lifting a bundle of old letters tied with string. “She told my mother that a boy’s mistakes are just part of his history.”
