We Were Barbers

 There is a theory among scientists that we are a collection of memories, lessons, trauma, maybe even talent stored deep in our DNA, called genetic memory. It's something I’d like to examine in my own experience in researching my family and is already something I see in my parents and my kids. In my family there are many different ways I could see this play out, from the dark things like alcoholism, to a love for the Smoky Mountains, to hobbies like wood working and music. 

Above is a picture of the barbershop my great-grandfather worked in. His name was Hoyt Calvin Martin, but he went by Turk. I have no idea where that nickname came from, and I don’t think anyone else knows either. This exact photo was displayed in the Etowah Depot, which is a historic building in Etowah, Tennessee. I’m not sure it’s displayed there any more, but we would stop and admire it whenever we’d go to the 4th of July celebration Etowah would put on from the Depot every year.

My Dad tells a story of when he was in high school and he went to his Grampaw for a haircut. He’d been growing his hair out long for a while, and he told him he wanted “just a trim”, and Turk got out his clippers and shaved his hair clean off. Dad and my Grampaw have pretty much always done their own shaving and barbering because they were taught well. Dad always took extra care when he would trim my brother’s hair and took his time when he taught him how to shave. And as my nephews get older, he’ll teach them with just as much care and innate skill. 

These pictures kind of say it all. 

We were barbers, and we still kind of are.