The day I received my book.

My Journey

by Lori Lee Peters

For the last twenty-plus years, I have owned and operated Snip n' Sail barbershop on an island in Washington State. It wasn't until I began researching psychological trauma for my book that I discovered what I have been living with for fifty-plus years—C-PTSD with derealization. I share my home with Leo, my canine coworker. For the last forty-plus years, my mission has always been to finish my dad's story. While writing, I felt it would be important to add my story alongside my dad's. My memoir shows how success and curiosity can give you more than you bargained for.

From the beginning, I was in awe of my dad. He appeared larger than life with his presence. He must be someone important, I told myself. Tall, handsome, fresh haircut, and immaculately dressed. As I grew, I wanted to be just like him. In 1970, when I was nine, our family moved to Lodi, California. Over the next few years, he taught me about business.

The time I went with Dad to a business meeting, after they talked a bit, a napkin was passed back and forth between them. The owner stood up, they shook hands, and he left.

"Dad, how did the meeting go?"

"It went well. We made a deal."

"What do you mean?"

"We made a deal on this napkin."

"Dad, you can't make a deal on a napkin."

"Sure you can. You can make a deal on any piece of paper. You have to make sure both of you sign and shake hands."

"Really?"

"Yes, honey."

"How do you shake hands?"

"Give me your hand like you are going to shake."

"Now, try to shake my hand."

As I did, he stopped and said, "You need to hold my hand tighter."

As I held his hand tighter, he said, "That's good. It's important to hold someone's hand and shake two to three times with confidence."

"I get it. Thanks, Dad."

I was an extremely curious child. Once, I asked, "Dad, is it okay to be a garbage man? What if I want to be a garbage man someday?" In truth, I wanted to know if Dad would love me no matter what I wanted to be.

"Honey, if you want to be a garbage man, if that's what makes you happy, then that's what you need to do," my dad said. "Just make sure you give one hundred percent. Whatever you do in life, give it your all. That's what matters."

Even at a young age, I felt there was more for me in this life. Being around my dad sharpened my personality traits and business sense.

My Journey Derailed

In 1974, when I was thirteen, I went through extreme psychological trauma that changed the course of my life. Too terrified to talk about what happened, I pretended that everything was fine. Being around my dad kept me grounded with his love, practical jokes, and strong will. When not around my dad, or when I would try to sleep, was torture, day after day, year after year. Maybe there isn't more for me in this life. I refused to believe that.

Dad moved out when I was sixteen. He explained to me, "I'm working on a very important business project that could take six months to a year. I promise I will come back home." As difficult as that was to hear, knowing Dad would come home eased my panic.

More than two years later, Dad came home and explained the "business project" he had worked on: going undercover to help the FBI take down the Bonanno Crime Family. Dad's success with his Cadillac dealership brought the Bonanno Family to his doorstep. Bonanno's intent was to purchase several California Cadillac dealerships, with Dad as the front man to launder money.

Within a year after my dad came home, in 1981, at age forty-nine, my dad, my mentor, my hero, died from a grade 4 glioblastoma brain tumor.

How Can I Go On

I'll never forget standing on our front lawn, holding my dad's shoes tightly to my chest, in tears.

"Dad, I will finish the book you started. I don't know when and I don't know how, but the world will not forget you. They will know you like I know you—as the hero you are. I promise. You have given me a future."

I was lost after my dad died. Without him to lean on, I never felt so alone and empty. Then I would remember the promise I made and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

What I've learned over the years is to have a passion, a goal, or a dream. Take that, hold on tight, and find a way to achieve it. You will be battle-tested. No matter where you are in your journey, having a college degree isn't a requirement to be a leader. There are many trade schools doing a terrific job. I have graduated from several. An important lesson I have learned in an ever-changing world is to have a backup plan.

Deciding to open my barbershop was due to the terrorist attacks on 9/11. I was working as a flight attendant for United Airlines at the time and felt this was the best career for me while dealing with C-PTSD. After the 9/11 terrorist attacks, United Airlines, as well as other U.S. carriers, were furloughing employees. After much thought, I decided to take a furlough and acquire my cosmetology license in Washington State by transferring my California license. Washington State accepted my schooling and license from California, and I opened my barbershop.

Your Life, Your Choice

In the years since I've opened my barbershop, my customers have recognized and appreciated the care I devote to understanding their needs and priorities. Success means different things to many people. I'm where I want to be with my barbershop. I'm a one-woman show and have a great group of men from all phases of life, various careers, and retirement.

Since publishing my book in 2021, my goal has been to take my memoir as far as I can. At this moment, I have two producers and a veteran director working with my screenwriter to see my story get made. I'm holding on tight and not letting go.

Forty-five years have passed since I clutched my father's shoes to my chest, consumed in grief while vowing to immortalize his unfinished manuscript. Through determination fueled by love, I can now proudly proclaim: I did it, Dad!

This decades-long endeavor to publish required long sessions that were emotionally challenging and frustrating. But giving up could never be an option—I owed us both that much. During the darkest days, when progress stalled, I would look at photos, relive memories, and sense your presence spurring me on.

A quote from my dad:

"You have two things that are very precious and valuable that only you can build or destroy: your name and your reputation."

In parting, all my best on Your Journey.