My barber, Dave, nods at us as we walk in. Neither his conversation nor his scissors pause. My four youngest boys hustle to the toy box in the back room. Many of the toys are old or broken. Looking at the scramble for them though, you would think they were gold doubloons. My older three boys were more reserved in public. When these last four get comfortable somewhere, they resemble a litter of poorly trained beagles – howling randomly, jumping on each other, and pretending they cannot hear their master’s commands. I avoid yelling across the room. It makes me look out of control and does not work anyway. Just as with young pups, orders growled in close proximity are more effective.
The boys are quiet for now, so I am free to listen in on any of the conversations.