The day I entered grade school my Saturdays became more complicated. Before I went to school for my first day, my mom insisted dad take me to the barber shop. So, come Saturday morning, off we went for my introduction to Ed the barber and my first professional hair cut. Little did I know then that this ritual would be repeated every other Saturday morning, without fail. Even during summer vacations. Mom was overly concerned about appearance, in my opinion. School and church clothes had to always be clean and neatly pressed. Face well scrubbed and hair neatly cut and combed. Any shortcuts I attempted always met the same put down. “What will people think”? I saw all this as an assault on my personal freedom. During the school year, I was in school all day five days a week, came home and did any chores or homework I had. Sundays I was in church most of the morning. That only left Saturday as my only full day to myself and I had to sacrifice half of one of those every other week for a haircut. Summer vacation in my 7th year, I decided I had enough. I would cut my own hair. I would do such a good job, I would never have to see Ed the barber ever again. That evening at bed time, I shut my bedroom door, seated myself in front of the mirror over my dresser then went to work with a pair of scissors. Putting my cap on, I snipped away everything that hung out below it. I had to guess at the back, since I couldn’t see back there. On taking off my cap and inspecting my work, I saw the need for a little evening up. A snip here, a snip there and, well, if I leave my cap on no one will see the bare spots and tufts of hair sticking up. The next morning, I came down to breakfast with my cap on, and seated myself at the table. Mom asked “ What did I tell you about the cap”? and knocked it off my head. Her mouth dropped open as she sucked in air. Dad broke out in a loud “Haw, Haw”. Between all the laughter I heard mom say, “Thank God it’s summer vacation Ike you ain’t leaving the place ‘till Saturday morning you hear”? Sounding like one long word. So, Saturday morning dad and I headed for Ed’s barber shop. We were the first customers, so I climbed up into the chair. Ed took off my cap and gave out a “what the hell happened to you”? Dad told Ed the story while Ed inspected the damage. “I don’t think even I can save this”. Dad said just buzz it all off, it’ll grow out by the time school starts anyway. As we were leaving Ed said “Better keep anything that cuts away from Ike”, haw haw. Arriving home, I had to endure even more insults as dad pulled off my cap when we entered the kitchen. Mom started with, “I sent you to town with a boy and you brought back one of those Mexican mutts with the bug eyes and big ears” ? So, that summer I was known in the neighborhood as The Cisco Kid, after one of my cowboy radio hero’s. Ed's barber shop used to be under the YMCA building in my town. Ed's long gone and the old YMCA building is now a homeless shelter.
When dad would take me to the barbershop, the barber would patiently listen to however I told him I wanted my hair to be cut but when he was done, it was clear that nothing that I had said entered into the plans whatsoever. My hair was always the same -- just long enough so that I wouldn't get a sunburn on the top of my head. In high school, I was allowed to choose my own barber, or none at all, and I grew my hair out. Since there were dress codes involving hair, I would get sent to the principal's office every now and then. In short time, I realized that I was fairly safe if I stayed out of the new addition to the school, which is where the gymnasium and all of the administrative offices were. More than once, when I did get sent to the office, I could agree to cut my hair, but get it signed off simply by watering it down before reporting back to the office. When it got too long for that to work, a few times, I agreed to have it cut on Wednesday afternoon. They would give me a pass to skip out on my first class on Wednesday afternoon, only it seemed that I was the only one who ever seemed to remember that both of the barbers in town were closed on Wednesdays. They got me in the end, though. On my senior picture, they airbrushed my hair so that it appeared to be much shorter than it was.
OMG, Ike, that is so funny. I'm not sure you meant for it to be funny but it made me LOL. My son gave himself a haircut when he was about 3 or 4 years old. Ken, my grandson has long hair. When someone would make some unfavorable comment, I told them that he is a good boy and, as far as I am concerned, he can let it grow down to his ankles.
My experience was the same a bi weekly Saturday ritual, a short back and sides as we called it, the barber was Worthington, and his son took it over but they are long gone now. I had hair various lengths as I grew up, and did try trimming it myself, but went to a barber when it started growing down inside my shirt collar I always found this to be true of barbers, they did what they did despite asking you what you wanted. I only go now when my hair gets long enough to feel uncomfortable, about every 6 weeks, but only having it cut when I am in Russia nowadays, (Lisa translates my instructions) I notice I still get a short back and sides. I do find though that the girls in Russia take about half an hour compared to the UK ones who only take 10 minutes at most.
Hahaha... I can kinda relate! The summer before I started 7th grade, I decided to cut my own hair so I could look like the popular fashion model in this picture (Twiggy). I had all the "mod" clothes, and was skinny enough, but the do-it-yourself haircut was a disaster!!!