When I was first approached about writing this blog, after everyone else in the newsroom had indicated they had real work to do and just couldn't, the idea was that I would let you know about upcoming events I was involved in or schools I had visited. For example, last week I was in Spring Hill at KYDZ Inc., which is a great child-care facility. The day before that was Fort Discovery in Independence. Both places had the kids learning and laughing through the steamy 100+ degree days. Thank you to all the wonderful teachers, staffers and kids at both spots.

Now, in keeping with the original idea of "what's up with Joel," as if anyone really wants to know such a thing, I must inform you that yesterday...I got a haircut. I have a great barber, Jim, in a great, old-fashioned barbershop, filled with lots of magazines and good conversation. Jim always has something going on. This summer he and his family have had reunions from the Black Hills to Colorado. He's also a car buff and is busy with shows all over the country. I always feel like a complete slacker after hearing from Jim. He runs through the long list of places he's been and things he's done since the last haircut and then asks what I've been up to, to which I reply, feebly, "Well, I had some string cheese last Monday and watched a very special episode of Full House."

Yesterday, I asked Jim to "only cut the gray ones." He replied that he didn't think I'd want my hair that short. I've also been told, in the shop, that I have "Audubon" hair...as in the Audubon Society. I thought that meant my hair is a great natural resource worth conserving. I was wrong. I have Audubon hair as in "Audubon on a dog." Jim told me yesterday that he has had some of his customers for over 45 years now...including the first guy whose hair he ever cut when he came to town. I remarked that certainly shows high customer satisfaction. Jim said he thinks it just means those guys are hoping the haircut will eventually be done right. For the record, my haircut is always done right.

The barbershop I go to now, reminds me of the barbershop I used growing up. Originally, my mom cut my hair and she did a fine job. The only problem would be if a good dance number popped up on the radio during the haircut. You haven't lived until your hair has been cut while the "cutter" is doing the polka. I'm relieved we never heard a tango or I may have ended up looking like Charo. I sometimes worried about my mom cutting my hair because I had heard a story from her high-school years: She took a "friend" out in a boat with the promise to give her, the friend, a special hair style just in time for the big dance. The girl came back with no eyebrows and my mom was crowned Homecoming Queen. To be fair, I always ended up with my eyebrows but my ear lobes used to be significantly longer. At a certain point, my mom decided I needed to go to the barbershop for haircuts and so I began to ride my bike down to Gordy's Barbershop.

The fragrance of hair gel and shampoo still brings back good memories. That's one reason I knew I had found the right place for a haircut when we moved here so many years ago...it just smelled right. You could read from hunting, fishing and golf magazines or comic books. There was even one of those racier magazines face down and locked in the display case along with combs and tonic. In all the years I went there, I don't think I ever saw anyone read it. It would have been just too embarrassing to ask and, you never knew when the pastor or priest might wander in for a trim. If you sat still, Gordy would hand you a piece of Juicy Fruit as you left the chair. He'd also say "Well, if it's too short, I can take a little more off." The truth is, on a least one occasion, my mom did think he'd cut it a little too short. She even called and told him so...saying he had eliminated "all the natural wave." Gordy replied that the so-called "natural wave" was really just the ridges, knots and bumps on my skull and the shorter cut showed those off even better. I think he was onto something since, that day, I was chased home by a crazed band of rogue phrenologists.

The too-long, too-short disputes cropped up very rarely and, so, I got my hair cut by Gordy from grade school until we moved to Kansas City. (Every now and then, my sister-in-law, who is also a fine hair stylist, would do the job. Once, just for fun, she gave me an impermanent perm...back when it seemed like everyone wanted hair like Mike Brady. I came out looking like a used Brillo pad.) Gordy even gave our youngest son his very first haircut many years ago and still cuts all our hairy heads whenever we are back to visit. Everyone still gets Juicy Fruit. Samantha, too, even without getting a hair cut.

My oldest son's first haircut was with a local barber, north of the river. I made a feature story out of it for the news and used the Roy Orbison classic Crying as mood music. He was a little uncertain about losing that hair. To this day, he tears up when heading for the barbershop. You'd think, with four kids, we would have had some horror story about one child chopping the hair off another but that never really happened. I think Taylor once tried to cut his own bangs but that was for logistical reasons...he wanted to see clearly as he smacked his older brother with a Power Rangers Action Figure. We let Taylor's hair grow pretty long when he was little because it was so...well...pretty. If he every finds the photos of himself dressed up like Shirley Temple, I'm sure we'll be sued or invited on Dr. Phil.

For a time, in a money-saving effort, we tried to cut the boys' hair, ourselves. We bought an electric clipper and went to work. The first attempt left us with what looked like Mr. T nesting dolls. From then on, whenever we got the clippers out, the boys would vanish. Even the dogs would disappear. I considered one of those Flowbees from the informercials, but, my wife was fearful that I would put it on the wrong setting and actually leave the kids looking hairier than when I started. I volunteered to use it on myself first, but, she said, I have enough going against me in the looks department without putting the Flowbee on overdrive and ending up with a head resembling shredded wheat.

Before I finish up this hair-curling tale, I should let you in on a little twist. Remember, the occasional disputes my mom would have with Gordy, the barber? Well, many, many years later, she got even. She married him. That'll teach him to cut my hair too short!