What the Barbershop Window Taught Me

When I was a kid, one of my good buddies betrayed me.

I won’t name him, but we had a pact in sixth grade: never tell the math teacher who made the fart noises. Truth is, it was both of us. A true tag team. Secret handshake and everything.

After class, the teacher asked who it was. I crossed my arms and said I didn’t know anything. My buddy pointed at me and said it was Aaron. In that moment, I felt like Michael Corleone watching Fredo fold. The wild part is, I actually expected it.

But why?

Was it in my blood? I mean, my great-grandfather, who his children called “Pa,” literally snuck onto a ship from Sicily, an island conquered so often that people survived by assuming everyone had an angle. Pa’s son Joe, my grandfather, once asked him if he trusted anyone. Pa said he “didn’t trusta nobody.” Not his son. Not his wife. Not even himself.

Why?

“I mighta talk inna my sleep.”

To say the least, suspicion ran deep in my past, but that was just a primer for what actually prepared me for that classroom ambush.

Picture it: Saturday mornings. Antenna TV. WWF Superstars. Pure storytelling chaos in 45 minutes. My favorite tag team was The Rockers, Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty. Beloved. Electric. Then came the barbershop window. They hugged on Brutus Beefcake’s show, and I cheered.

Then Shawn superkicked Marty and sent him through the glass.

The next day, every kid at school talked about it. That day we learned a truth: Anyone can turn on you.

So when my buddy squealed on me in sixth grade, I knew exactly what happened. He pulled a Shawn Michaels. I still use that moment as code. When someone betrays someone else, I say they put them through the barbershop window.

The crazy thing is, recently I was walking with my wife and froze. She asked what was wrong. I pointed across the street at a man who looked familiar. I told her that in sixth grade, that man put me through the barbershop window.

And that I haven’t been the same since.