News — InProvidence
If you had asked me when I was younger what my least favorite thing to do on a Saturday was, it would be the day, every other month, when my mother would force my stepfather to take me to get a haircut.
We would go to a place in Providence that was something like Purgatory, if Purgatory had old magazines and everybody seemed way too happy to be there. The barbershop we went to was small — probably the size of a walk-in closet. You’d sit on uncomfortable chairs and wait for two hours so that a man in his 60s could take clippers and buzz off all your hair. That seemed to be the only haircut anybody who went there would request. “But Kevin,” you might be saying, “you can do that at home. Clippers aren’t that expensive, and if all...