My go-to barbershop in Queens is a place called Artur Barbershop, owned by a man named Artur Maniyev.

Artur is Russian and Jewish. Historically speaking, so am I. We probably have ancestry in common.

We are also the same age. He turned 50 about six months before me.

I appreciate Mr. Maniyev because he keeps me looking good.

He also hits me with principles.

I came in one day stressed about an itinerary I was concerned I would not complete.

And some time in the middle, feeling like I was running out of time, I asked him if we could go quick.

And he said, we don’t do it quick; we do it right. We stop when the job is done.

That’s a word. He has many.

Anyway, I  went in last week and said, it’s my birthday in two days. I need to look good. And at the end of the cut, he said hold on a second.

I am, as usual, pressed for time.

He said, I need to give you something. And he comes back with…a lollipop.

And he says HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

And suddenly I am seven years old.

And this is a magical moment.

IN The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy arrives in Oz, she is greeted by several formal munchkin delegations.

One of these is The Lollipop Guild, three  dudes who immediately follow the female Lullaby League with a song and dance number of their own.

I never parsed it for symbolism. I just took it as a sign that in this fantasy land, lullabies and lollipops were to be taken seriously. They were a basis for organization. These two delegations had civic responsibilities. Lollipops were involved.

Lollipops can welcome you to magic.

There was a pediatrician in Brattleboro (maybe Dr. Houpis?) who gave out lollipops at every visit. I don’t really remember the visits. I just remember the lollipops.

The ability to minister to the child in us is a gift.

In my time at Amherst College, the Associate Dean of Students, Onawumi Jean Moss, in addition to being an inspired thinker, and fierce advocate, was an award-winning storyteller. She still is. And I would watch her go into a room filled with jaded, driven, too-smart-for-their-own-good college students, and turn them into primary schoolers. It was like those Haribo Gold Bears commercials where corporate reps in business attire all speak in little kid voices as they chow down on gummy bears. She would meet us as grown-ups and leave us as tots. It was pure magic.

And, to me, it speaks to a larger issue.

There is power in ministering to the child, because a lot of our wounds are in childhood. Childhood is where people hurt feelings we hadn’t learned to protect. It’s where we found out that no matter how nice we were, some people would be mean to us. It’s where we experienced pain we didn’t have the tools to process.

One of the things we do when we minister to children is make them feel special. It’s more than throwing birthday parties, and giving them Christmas presents. It’s taking the time to join their games, or listen to their stories, or gift them with music and art, or enter the world of their imaginations and encourage them to dream. It’s taking them seriously as people, and not just demanding that they remain silent until they turn 18.

It's teaching them that they are actual people, and not just rough drafts of someone who will eventually be important.

Intentional celebration goes a long way. So does allowing people to play.

I have labored in vineyards that preached that children should be seen and not heard.

I have also experience cultures that insisted that children should be obscene and not absurd.

Both have their strengths and weaknesses.

One of my favorite rituals at church is our monthly mass acknowledgement of birthdays. On the first Sunday of each month, we take a few minutes, and ask everyone with a birthday in that month to stand. And then the band serenades them with Stevie Wonder’s Happy birthday song. And we sing, and dance, and celebrate them together.

And that’s a great corporate moment.

But the thing about it I admire the most is that highly sophisticated, mature people will take that moment, and celebrate themselves.  I watch people who are old enough to be my parents and grandparents  allow themselves to let go. And I see, for a moment, the innocence of the children they once were.

Celebration is a sacred discipline, and one that many cultures miss.

1. We worry about how we look, so we don’t. I’m too old to do this. I’m too big. I’m too
2. We worry whether others are rooting for us so we don’t root for ourselves.
3. We have conditioned ourselves to disappointment so we don’t allow ourselves joy. We don’t permit ourselves to play.

There is something beautiful in taking a minute to celebrate yourself.

On Tuesday I got a birthday lollipop.  And I ain’t sharin’ it with nobody.

In this moment, I will celebrate me.

And when the time comes, I will celebrate you, too.