As a kid, I spent a lot of time in my father's hair salon. Sweeping up hair and running towels to the laundry mat were some of the little jobs that would be assigned to me. I learned a lot about life in that shop. A constant stream of people coming and going through it's doors. Some in a rush, some in no hurry at all, and some needing a listening ear. I would intently watch, as my dad seamlessly flowed back and forth between connecting with his clients in conversation and transforming them from the person who sighed as they slowly slouched into his chair, to the new and improved one, standing tall with their shoulders back as they confidently strolled out into the world.
From time to time, my dad would fill space between clients by cutting my hair. I can remember being an antsy, squirmy little guy when he tried to get me to hold still. Once I was still enough for him to begin cutting, my chin would drop to my chest when I felt the buzz of the clippers on my neck. "Chin up!", my dad would say and I would jolt my neck back, lifting my chin to the sky. To this day, when the going gets tough, I hear his voice saying ,"chin up" and it refocusses me, helping me press onward.