Last month, we arranged to get family pictures. About 40 minutes before leaving, Travis was cutting his own hair. He asked me to clean up a couple spots. We had done this a few times before so without listening I grabbed the clippers and went for an uneven spot. To my horror, a small hole in the back of Travis' hair glared back at me—I wasn't holding the longer clippers, but the buzz ones. I should have buzzed his neck line. Not tried to fix a longer, uneven patch. When Travis asked what happened I confessed to butchering his hair a mere 40 minutes before annual family photo day.
Instead of becoming angry with me or panicking, Travis laughed—and laughed some more. Meanwhile I stood in shock and joined in the laughter, but also tried to fight back tears because I didn’t want to mess up my make-up in the final minutes before a photo shoot.
I placed the clippers down on the sink and backed away from them like a child caught sneaking a piece of Halloween candy by their parent. I darted away for fear of making any further damage.
So Travis did his best to repair the damage. I creeped back in and ask if I can somehow assist in fixing anything. Travis handed me the longer clippers to even out one spot—moments after buzzing a bald spot on the back of his head.
And then the unthinkable transpired: somehow I buzzed a different bald spot to the left of the first. I gaped at the second blotch. Now it looks like a distorted flag buzzed into his hair.
How is this possible? Why did he even allow me to try again? What have I done? This is awful. He’s a doctor now. As soon as he turns to walk out of the room after examining a patient...
Still not fully grasping how I managed to do this for a second time within 15 minutes, I explain the damage to Travis. I dropped the clippers like a dog scolded by his master for bringing in a dead snake inside from the garden. “I am not touching those clippers again. I keep making it worse.”
At first Travis is puzzled, but again he responds with amusement. Tears filled his eyes as the laughter seized him. Travis finds absurdness hilarious—this worked in my favor today.
With less than 25 minutes until we need to leave to now commemorate the worst haircut imaginably for Travis because of me with a family photo session, I leave Travis to salvage the unsalvageable.
But no matter how much damage control Travis does, you just can’t hide a misshapen flag on the back of your head.
Even though I don’t prefer to drive, I volunteer to drive because well…guilt.
Travis bravely marches inside the mall without worry. And then I knew a deeper sense of love for this man had grown.
He never raised his voice at me. He never blamed me. He didn’t freak out. He laughed and made jokes. He didn’t actually care what others thought.
“It’ll eventually grow back,” he told me.
At least most of the pictures are from the front so the back is hidden.
The rest of the day any time I caught a glimpse of his backside, I winced in pain at my mistakes and the potential embarrassment I caused him for the next few weeks. I would laugh, but when I sat down the laughter turned to tears.
I love Travis because his happiness isn’t dependent on his circumstances or the opinions of others. He loves me even when I accidentally shame him. And he does it all with a sparkle in his blue eyes and a nonchalant grin.