Artistic Freedom

When I was about 3 or 4, my beloved dad would let me sit on his shoulders and "do" his thinning hair while he read the paper.

I would use his pocket comb and my mom's pin curl clips (remember them?) and make curls all over his head where I could. Then I would take them out and style.

I would repeat this at least 3 times during our salon time.

My mother, in a completely nerved out voice, would ask him how he could could stand it.

"I don't mind," he'd reply with a grin.