Tourettes Boy Gets a Haircut

Tourettes Boy Gets a Haircut

Dale sat in the passenger's seat of his mom's car. The nine-year-old
boy fidgeted and nervously performed his vocal tics and twitches.
"Dale sweetie," his mother said as she lightly touched his shoulder.
"Are you going to be ok?" Dale frantically nodded his head, and then
continued to head bang as it transformed into one of his many
tics.
"Yeah mom,
I'll&;#8230;grr&;#8230;I'll&;#8230;grr&;#8230;be
fine&;#8230;grr." The growls were also a daily vocal tic he was
forced to perform. The sound was sometimes suppressed in his stomach,
but they would eventually be squeezed out. If not in the form of a
growl, then some other tic. He also shushed, twitched his eyes, neck,
head, and obsessively touches things. It pained his mother to see her
son suffering so much. Her good for nothing husband committed suicide
when Dale was diagnosed with tourettes. Dale's father had it bad.
Dale's mother was extremely
helpful and understanding, towards her husband. Apparently, he couldn't
live with the fact that his son would suffer too. As understanding as
she was with her late husband, she was twice as understanding with her
son, and three times as protective.
"Alright Dale, let's go get your hair cut." His mother let out an
obvious sigh. Dale began to get excited again and ticked and growled.
It didn't even phase his mother anymore. When Dale was younger he use
to periodically scream, and it would make her flinch. After about six
months, she didn't even notice it.
The two of them stepped out of the car and bundled their jackets
closer to them as a blast of chilled air blew past them. The neon sign
of chopping scissors reflected off Dale's glasses. This was the first
time he was going to get a professional hair cut. His Aunt, who
recently moved, had cut his hair every time he needed it. This was
definitely going to be an experience. Dale's mother was prepared to
support her son. The two of them walked through the single glass door.
The door hit a set of bells. "Ring! Ring! Ring!" Dale shouted. Everyone
in the salon turned and looked at him. "Ring, ring," he said again,
under his breath. His mother directed him to an empty portion of the
waiting area. Dale continued to perform his twitches and stared blankly
at the floor in embarrassment.
"Honey, just sit down, I'll get us a number," his mother told him as
she leaned over and kissed his forehead. Dale's mother walked over and
pulled a pink ticket from the roll by the register. Before she returned
to her seat, Dale saw someone he recognized. Stepping down from his
chair was this stupid kid in Dale's class. His name was Doug, and Dale
found him very irritating. Doug talked way too much and asked a bunch
of stupid questions. Dale politely waved to Doug and his mom as they
walked by. They both smiled.
Dale's mother returned to her seat next to her son. "Ok honey," she
said in a soft voice, "you're going to be fine."
"I know&;#8230;grrr&;#8230;mom, stop
worrying&;#8230;grrr."
"I'm just worried about you because I love you, Dale"
Dale smiled to make his mother feel better. Finally, after what felt
like an eternity for the both of them, an Asian lady stepped forward
and faced the waiting area.
"Forty-two," she said, in a heavy Asian accent.
"That's us Dale," his mother reluctantly informed him. Dale had
continued to growl while he was waiting, and sitting in the chair was
going to be no exception. Dale sat in the chair, removed his glasses,
and handed them to his mother.
"How do you want hair?" the lady asked.
Dale's mother explained while Dale sat and waited. Waited for his
inevitable torture. The Asian barber ran her hands through Dale's hair
and repeated what Dale's mother had instructed in an incoherent
fashion. Dale's mother nervously agreed.
The barber began to cut and, of course, Dale began to fidget and
twitch. Now understand, when a victim of tourettes is in a situation
where they cannot perform their ticks or it is inappropriate, they want
to do them even worse. Dale's mother had somewhat planned on this, so
she was prepared to defend her son if necessary.
The barber didn't seem annoyed, just a little challenged. She would
wait for Dale to finish twitching and continue, almost as if she'd
expected it. The barber did a wonderful job and was very patient.
Dale's mother was pleasantly surprised. Dale, on the other hand,
wanted to twitch even worse than he was already. The thoughts were
unresistable.
Finally, he was relieved as the barber began to brush the hair off the
back of his neck. She was finally done.
Dale and his mother walked happily to the register to pay the
lady.
The barber pressed some keys on the register and looked up. "Six
dollar."
"But, the sign says four," Dale's mother replied.
"You pay more, he move too much."
Dale's mother's mood fell faster than the autumn leaves. "What?" she
shouted. "What kind of fucking place -"
She began to lower her voice to a whisper, but it was too late. Dale
was standing by the door crying. "Fucking place! Fucking place! Fucking
place!" He shouted repeatedly.
Dale's mom whipped her head back towards the barber. "What kind of
fucking place is this?" she asked, continuing to hold her whisper.
"Look what you're doing to my son!"
"Lady, " the barber began. "Sometime, when haircut difficult, we
demand tip."
"Do you have any idea what is wrong with my son? No! You don't! So how
can you demand anything?"
"I'm sorry," Dale cried with sorrow.
"No baby, don't apologize. Don't ever apologize," she said smiling in
a soft soothing voice.
"Here," Dale's mother said, slamming six dollars on the counter. The
ironic part is, she was so impressed with her patience, she was going
to tip her.
"One more thing," she said as her and Dale headed out the door.
"Ignorance is a lack of understanding. Try to avoid it next
time."
Dale and his mother walked to their car, sobbing in anger and
frustration. Dale buckled his seatbelt as his mother held him and he
cried.
Just another misadventure for Tourettes boy, in the played out drama
known as his life.

Doug Musgrove, Jr.