I Hereby Vow to Walk Out
I Hereby Vow to Walk Out

I’m no snob. I believe in the Everyman, I know for sure that “salt of the Earth” folks infuse every socioeconomic demographic, and I’ve spent too much time with flossy broke folks to think clothes or a nice car say jack about a person’s relative economic security or the condition of their heart or even their propensity to live generously.

I have a comfortable home but I could live anywhere. I’ve been perfectly happy among the bats and bugs in Nicaragua or lounging for a spa day at a posh hotel. You could inventory my life and see evidence of this fact in my family, my job teaching at an open access college, and where we choose to worship. And I’m only telling you all of this as the preface to a story that has my guts all twisty.

Earlier this week, I wanted to take my son for a haircut. We have a regular barber shop, but our guy was busy at the times I could make the drive and I needed something quick. So I did a Google search, made a phone call, the dude on the phone sounded nice enough, and I loaded the kids in the car.

I found the barber shop (the story should end there). I walked into the barber shop (the story should end there). I didn’t like what I saw inside (the story should end there). My daughter said “I don’t like this place, mom” (the story should end there). My son started crying immediately (the story should end there).

Do you ever just have a bad feeling somewhere? Ever feel like “we don’t belong here?” Ever feel like you’ve seen someone before, and maybe it was when you checked the sex offender registry for your area, but you’re not quite sure? (Okay, I’m exaggerating with that one). Call it a mother’s instinct, call it the Holy Spirit, call it paranoia. But you know what I’m talking about.

You guys. I took my kids to a shady barber shop. I got the bad mojo feeling. They did too. But I was so busy trying not to be judgmental and trying not to poo-poo the place just because it was shabby that I worried more about hurting the old dude’s feelings by walking out than teaching my kids in that moment what I SHOULD have done.

I should have said to my three year old daughter, “you don’t like this place? Okay, let’s go. Trust your gut, baby!”

I should have said to the barber, “This isn’t going to work out. Thank you for your time.”

I should have said to myself, “Hey Meggs, show Zadie what you’d want HER to do in this situation 20 years from now.”

That’s not what I did. We stayed. I smiled and made small-talk the whole time Zadie clung to my leg and Wesley cried. We finished the (bad) haircut and we left.

I am no elitist. My problem with that barber shop could’ve happened anywhere. But I’m making a public vow right now that the next time an opportunity like that presents itself, I’m going to demonstrate for my daughter and son how to trust their instincts and just walk out.

I can’t explain why I felt the way I did. Nothing bad happened. But maybe the lesson in that trip wasn’t just for me. Maybe it’s for all of us. A reminder for you and me both that we HAVE to show our kids how to trust their instincts and just walk out, even when it doesn’t make sense.

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