Going to grandpa's by Dave
I grew up from the 1960s into the early 80s, when most guys had long hair, but I never got real shaggy.
When it started to spill over our ears and collar, dad would take my brothers and I to the barbershop. If we were lucky, we got an ivy league and had a little left to comb. Other times he would order a flattop.
During the summer my brothers and I were always taken to my grandparents to visit for three weeks after school was out. As soon as my parents left, my grandpa would always get on us about how long our hair was, even if we had a recent flattop.
And then while grandma fixed dinner, he would take us to Charley's barbershop.
"Hi Ralph," Charley would say as we walked in. "Glad to see your grandsons made it. Good to see you boys."
Then my grandpa would say, "Well to me, they look like granddaughters. Can you change that?"
"Sure," Charley would say. "We will have them fixed up in a few minutes. I'll give them nice short burrs."
I was the younger than my brothers, and Charley would order me into the chair first. He then ran his clippers over my entire head, leaving just a hunt of stubble. As I got older, he would finish the haircut by shaving the neck and around the ears.
Then my brothers got the same treatment, and grandpa took us back a couple of more time during our stay for a fresh shearing.
Dad loved our haircuts, of course, and grandpa made him promise to keep us real short for summer.
We always went to see the grandparents for the Fourth of July, so a day or two before it was back to the barbershop in our neighborhood for a fresh burr. We usually had to keep the burr until Labor Day.
My brothers eventually didn't make the summer trip to grandpas after they got to high school, but I kept up the tradition. Even after I got married in 1987, my sons and I would go there to visit for a few days. Always on the agenda: A tip to Charley's Barber Shop for burr haircuts.