I don’t know about you but for me there is a certain kind of childhood memory that doesn’t fade, even years later. Thar can be small chair. A brush moving through a doll’s hair. Or the quiet focus of someone “getting ready.” For many families, that memory is tied to real places—salons, barbershops, kitchen trims, or familiar hands that always seemed to know exactly what they were doing. For my family hair has a way of holding family history inside it. Not just as appearance, but as routine, care, and connection. Some children grow up watching relatives work in salons, listening to conversations while someone’s hair is being shaped and…