There is a significant piece in my family’s past. It’s just a little thing we all remember and that is the time I cut my relative’s hair. The relative is my aunt’s daughter. We were three and all I remember is escaping my crib and grabbing the clippers that were placed in the dresser. What gave me the idea, I’m still unsure. But regardless, it still happened. The narrative went like this, I escaped my crib and fetched the clippers. After that, I climbed her playpen where she was sleeping and began snipping away. Her cries reverberated, immediately family members charged the living space, and there we were, me with clippers and my aunt’s daughter bald. The final image that I can remember is me getting carried away and having my hands washed. Years later my family still reminisces and makes light but back then it was pretty traumatic since I still remember it eight-teen years later. I believe it made me careful as a human, but as well it displays my tinkering nature because I feel like I was just mimicking my barber since I began getting haircuts when I turned three.