It was a hot, humid day when I decided it was time for the Big Chop. My body wanted to go home, but my heart guided me to the Dominican barbershop in my neighbourhood in New York instead. The man sitting in a blue folding chair out front eyed me curiously as I approached.
I’d walked by the man countless times before, but we’d never spoken. Not until now, as I asked if he would cut off my hair. He frowned, unsure of what I was asking. But when I pointed at my relaxed, or chemically straightened, hair and made sweeping snip-snips with my fingers, he gestured for me to follow him. Little did he know that his agreement would change my entire life.
