(Written by a former teacher from Shanghai)

          My friend Mrs. Wang came to see me last Friday.  She looked unhappy and talked about how her husband has been complaining about a lot of things, but there was just one topic that interested me - his hair cuts.  She had been cutting his hair since the 1970's, and he was rarely satisfied.  Most of the time, he complained about the way she did it.  That's not surprising, as she has never been a hairdresser.  I tried to make her feel better by relating this experience:

          My son had never entered a barber shop until he came to America, as I had always been his hairdresser.  He was a high school student, and one day when I returned home, he told me that he hadn't gone to school that day.  He looked very unhappy, but didn't say anything more.  I started to worry that he might be sick or have some terrible problem so I asked him several times what was wrong.  He finally pointed at his hair and said that he couldn't go to school with hair like that, as all of his classmates would laugh at him. 

          I tried to make him see that his problem wasn't that bad, and after patting his shoulders, I told him that if he'd wash his hair he'd probably feel better about going to school the next day, and we both laughed about it.

          That night I told my husband how our son felt about his hair.  He responded that it was very common to feel that way and gave me a mysterious smile.  I didn't understand why.  I had always cut his hair, too, and though sometimes he wasn't satisfied, he'd always said that it wasn't a problem.

          "Then why do you give me that strange smile?" I asked, and he slowly respoded with another smile, "Because I wear my hat all day."

          I had just finished telling Mrs. Wang the story when she burst out laughing, and I did, too.  She said that my husband had had a good sense of humor and wished that her husband did, too.  Then she'd have an excuse for doing such a bad job.

          I told her that I was slowly becoming more skillful by watching how the hairdresser cuts hair every time I'm in a beauty shop.  My husband had rheumatoid arthritis and his spine was rigid.  That made it difficult to have his hair cut in a barber shop so I did it for him.

          My neighbor wouldn't have that problem if he went to a barber shop, so I advised her to let him go there.  That would solve the problem, as she knew that she really wasn't a hairdresser.

          She was happy when she left my apartment, but I felt a bit lonely thinking of all thoseyears when I'd been so happy cutting my husband's hair. 

          I cheered up a bit, however, when I remembered what he'd said about the hat.