Summer 1976, just finished 8th grade. I had hair which totally covered my ears and hung below my collar. On top it was parted in the middle and real thick. My dad was traveling on business for the summer so I was sent to GA (I lived in CT)to stay with my uncle in GA. 

After my first week there he informed me we were going to go to the barber shop. He told the barber to give me a regular and when the guy grabbed the clippers, I said usually got my haircut w/scissors. the barber said he'd use scissors too and I didn't want to make a scene. 

The guy just grabbed my head and started plowing through my hair with the clippers--it felt so short. As the hair piled on the cape (I couldn't see the mirror) I remember thinking just don't let me cry. I almost did cry when he combed my hair down across my face and snipped off my bangs to the middle of my forehead and changed my center part to the side. He left me with a very short ivy league. I hated that haircut. Funny thing is, a about a year ago I saw a picture from that summer--maybe a few weeks after that haircut--and Ilooked so good I couldnt believe it. How times and perceptions change.