A haircut—something simple for most families—marked a milestone for mine this past Thanksgiving. Many months of struggle, patience, and hope led us to this moment.
My son, Joshua, and I share something special: our birthdays are five days apart in early November. Every year, I look forward to meaningful celebrations with him. This year, I decided it was time for a change. We would both get brand-new haircuts.
We had always kept his hair long on top, cutting only the sides. I had a similar hairstyle, and it brought me pride knowing people could quickly recognize him as my son. His braids and cornrows were beautiful, but washing and combing his hair became a daily struggle—filled with tears, resistance, and heartache.
After his non-verbal autism diagnosis, we began to understand why routines like haircuts or combing his hair overwhelmed him so much. I believed, perhaps stubbornly, that over time he would adjust. Watching him cry during those moments broke my heart, but I brushed it off, telling my wife, “He’ll get used to it.”
Then one day, I took on the task of washing and combing his hair. It wasn’t just difficult—it was overwhelming. I felt helpless, and in that moment, everything shifted for me. I realized that as beautiful as his long hair was, it wasn’t what was best for him at this stage of his development. I had to let go of my pride and expectations. Joshua needed comfort, not the weight of my ideals.
I remembered the few times I took him to the barbershop for a haircut. He screamed and cried with every buzz of the clippers. Barbers would hesitate. “He moves too much,” they’d say, not realizing how his autism amplified the sounds, sensations, and unfamiliar environment. To avoid the meltdowns and stares, my wife, his uncles, and I began cutting his hair at home.
Finally, I concluded that it was time to make a real change. We went to Anthony’s Barbershop in Tyrone, Georgia, the day before Thanksgiving.
But this time was different. The barbers were patient and kind. One carefully cut Joshua’s hair, while the others did something I never expected—they sang along to “If You Just Believe” by Badanamu, a song he picked on YouTube. Their small, thoughtful actions transformed the moment.
Joshua, whose autism once made him squirm at the buzz of clippers, recoil at the feeling of hair falling on his skin, and cry through every haircut, sat quietly in my lap. He was calm, as though giving his quiet approval for the haircut. I could hardly believe it. I’m already looking forward to the next visit.
Watching him that day at the barbershop, I reflected on how far we’ve come. Many people don’t realize the struggles families like ours face behind seemingly simple tasks. Small acts of understanding and compassion—like those shown by the barbers—can make a world of difference.
Since that day, Joshua has quietly shown us he likes his new haircut. The wash and comb sessions, once filled with heartache, are now calmer, and while brushing still brings a few struggles, the difference is night and day. Watching him smile in the mirror and touch his shorter hair was another small victory that reminded me we made the right choice.
One day, I know he will sit alone in that barber’s chair, another milestone. For now, I find hope and inspiration in moments like these.
To those who show kindness to children with special needs—barbers, teachers, friends, and strangers—families like mine are deeply grateful. Progress isn’t always loud or dramatic; sometimes, it shines through the quietest moments: letting go of expectations, choosing what’s best for our children, a patient barber, a calm haircut, and a peaceful day. I am deeply thankful for those who help make these small victories possible—and for the invaluable lessons Joshua continues to teach me.
