June 20, 2005
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Sunday, December 05, 2004
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal
JOHN L. SMITH: Anything to see her smile
John L. Smith sits with his daughter, Amelia, 8, at the St. Joseph Children’s Health Center after getting his head shaved Tuesday at a Phoenix barbershop, the culmination of an agreement he made after her emergency surgery to remove a malignant brain tumor.
Photo by Tom Hood/The Associated Press.
Before chemotherapy caused her hair to fall out, Amelia sported curly blond locks, a source of frequent compliments.
Barber Bill Klaes, right, shaves John L. Smith’s hair Tuesday at a Phoenix barbershop.
Photo by Tom Hood/The Associated Press.
When we told Amelia that chemotherapy would make her beautiful curly hair fall out, she nodded and accepted the fact.
She was quiet for a moment.
“All my friends love me, so it will be OK,” Amelia said, doing what she always does, making the best of the bad, taking the most from the least.
She took the news far better than her mom and dad, who have proudly accepted scores of compliments about those lovely blond locks for most of our daughter’s eight years of life.
After emergency surgery in mid-October to remove a malignant brain tumor, she entered a world of doctors and nurses, needles and MRIs, pain and isolation, and the presence of many very sick children. As much as we want to take away her pain, the best we can do is stand by her side and comfort her whenever possible.
Truth is, I’ve been a fool for Amelia since the day Tricia and I brought her home. My daughter has endured my best Henny Youngman routine every day of her life. I live to make her laugh, ache to see her smile.
I was thinking of that when I told her, “If you want, Dad will cut off his hair so we can be the same.”
She had been having a down day and shrugged. She said she didn’t think so. I said nothing but was secretly relieved. I’ve never had a crush on Kojak.
After a moment, a sparkle came to her green eyes as she focused on my head and weighed the possibilities.
Then she flashed her little girl grin.
“Well, maybe,” she said.
A few days later, just as the doctors had promised, her hair began falling out. She and her mother brushed it and arranged it, sprayed it and used all manner of clips, but there was no turning the tide.
When Michael from Hair In Motion finished the job with electric clippers, Amelia’s long surgical scar was clearly visible, but overall she was relieved not to have to worry about her hair anymore. By then I began to believe that she’d forgotten about my promise.
On the contrary, major brain surgery had done nothing to diminish her prodigious child’s memory. She voted for follicle defoliation.
That’s how I found myself at The Barbers in downtown Phoenix requesting the “King and I” special.
I tried to take solace in the million-to-one shot I might look like one of those popular hip-hop rappers or at least Kojak. Bill Klaes, a barber with 40 years’ experience, grabbed his clippers and said the process would be over before I knew it.
“It’s not real difficult to get this one to taper in and to blend in,” he said, chuckling as the clippers buzzed away.
The job was finished in the time it takes to boil an egg.
A large, weird egg.
“I’m really impressed with how that looks,” the barber said.
I noted that he wore glasses and reminded him of that fact.
“Oh, I can see fine at a distance,” he said.
Which, frankly, is not the first thing I look for in a barber.
He held up a mirror.
I wasn’t groovin’. I was Gollum.
Visions of being mistaken for E.T. or Billy Bob Thornton in “Sling Blade” danced in my hairless head.
I wasn’t hip-hop happenin’. I wasn’t Kojak cool. I wasn’t Yul Brynner, or even Mr. Clean.
I was the world’s largest Chia Pet.
The moment of truth came when I returned to St. Joseph’s Hospital, where Amelia was having an OK day.
She immediately smiled.
“You did it,” she said.
“Of course,” I replied.
She and her mom had read brochures on wigs and wig hats and floated a few of the options. Each was rejected. Amelia didn’t want someone else’s hair on her head. She wanted her own.
We even considered taking her ponytail and turning it into a hair extension but rejected that, too. Instead, her mom found her a cool blue beret.
And I noticed that for the first time since her hair loss that she left her bed and strolled the hall without wearing her beret, showing passers-by and the kids in the pediatric playroom not only her baldness but that wicked scar as well. She was more comfortable with herself, and that was the whole point of the exercise.
In the playroom Friday, Amelia couldn’t wait to attend the going home party for one little girl, who had finished her last chemo treatment and celebrated with cupcakes. With her wisps of black hair returning, her shiny gold earrings gleaming, that little girl beamed from the attention.
Amelia still has a long way to go, but we’re looking forward to a cupcake party of our own one day.
Meanwhile, she’ll keep making the best of the bad, taking the most from the least.
Her mother will keep the faith, and I’ll keep playing the clown.
Anything to see her smile.
John L. Smith’s column appears Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0295.
