His mother always cut his hair. From the time he was very, very little to now, when he was a determined and energetic six year old who would fight dragons in the back yard with a wooden sword crafted by his father. But his father was gone now, and James didn’t understand. He didn’t understand the yelling and screaming that he’d heard from Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom the last several weeks. He didn’t know who “Sandra” was, because that wasn’t his mother’s name. Her name was Annie. He sat still n...