My neighborhood barber shop.

I was in New York earlier this month. I was back home to visit my parents. They had a little party for me because I finished my graduate program.

During my time there, I visited my old barber shop from my youth. It is around the corner from my mom's office. I knew the original owner that passed several years back. The current owner has been cutting hair there since I was 10 years old. The barber that shaped me up chatted me up. Mostly for a better tip, I imagine, or simply to past the time. One the great things about a black barber shop, I can speak for all of them, but is it a place for male opinion... untainted, unrefined, untouched by a female voice.

The guy cutting my hair was ex-con. Talked about living a hard life. Coming from a single parent family. Talking about how he was a knuckle-head in his youth. He was telling me how he was envious of me. Talked about how he believed that I'm one of the most dangerous elements out there... a black man with an education. He believes ... that America fears me.

I have to admit... his comment to me gave me pause. Yeah, it is a little 60's and 70's black power, dogma... but he believes it. I was home to celebrate my graduation. A barber, that was a "bad boy", lived dangerously.... was a little gansta. He is envious of me... hmmm...

Or he was just chatting me for a tip.