Today, my mom cut my hair for the third time this year.

Or perhaps the fourth? Fifth? Since the start of the Inside Times, I've found it hard to count, well…many things.

Through comb, scissor, clipper, trimmer, my mom sculpted my unruly hair.

“When I was young, your grandma told me to learn to cut hair.”

I remembered my trip to China roughly 10 years ago. We paid the barber only a few dollars.

“Why? To save money? Getting a haircut wouldn't cost that much.”

“No, it was a thing to do. Grandma cut grandpa's hair.”

A while ago. I can't remember seeing my grandpa with a full head of hair.

My mom did things differently than how her mom would've wanted. She didn't cut my dad's hair (until the Inside Times). She went to college. She went to America. I do things differently than how she would've wanted. Maybe it runs in the family.