Last Wednesday, I laid hands on the heads of five men. 

One seeks me out when he hears the clippers. He is bound for court, and his public defender had told him he was looking a little scruffy. To me, he looks normal. Then he takes off the shirt he has borrowed for the hearing and his skin reveals a history of bad decisions.

I give him a high-and-tight military cut as his girlfriend watches to make sure I get the fade just right.

Another I have known for years. He is intelligent, but his heavy medication flattens his affect. He moves as if walking through waist-deep water. 

He is looking for a job. He knows the odds are long because his resume has big gaps, and he tells the truth in interviews. About why he hasn't worked since the '90s and those four years in prison. 

We'll call you, they tell him.

A guy my age, his nose half-collapsed, comes back for another trim. He's been stopping by the library to read one of my books, a few chapters at a time. (When you're in a shelter, it's risky to check out a book. They are too easy to lose.) 

His brother just got a lifetime achievement award for writing a series of Michigan state histories. He wishes he'd pursued a commercial art career instead of mechanics, but now he gives his drawings away.

A younger man I know has long been tripped up by anger issues and alcohol use. Usually, he's restless, but now in the chair he allows himself a period of sobriety-fueled reflection. Housing is no longer a hurdle for him; it's the lack of another person in his life and a beloved step child he no longer sees. I spend extra time with the scissors, listening, getting the cut perfect. 

Jose just needs a trim from his winter growth to a summer circle beard. He's a handsome man, but weathered, and he wears the telltale too many clothes for the temperature.

I do something for each to bring out his best, but I cannot blot the tattoos or erase the ink from their records. We revisit years of regret, of lost promise and broken relationships, but cannot walk them back. 

To a man, they are thoughtful, gentle, and full of appreciation. But they missed a turn somewhere. They lacked a mentor, a parent, a coach, a buddy, a lover, a partner, a brain chemical. They did not plan to become what they are.

They step out onto the street, invisible in their fresh haircuts.