First-time Flattop - Part 9 by Tate

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"Doug, because your hair is blond, I think it would look better tapered on the sides and back. Luke's hair is dark, so a tight fade on him provides a stark contrast between skin and hair. On you, there won't be much contrast, but it will look cleaner and sharper and have a little more shape and texture. What do you think?"

"How short will it be?"

"I'll shave it to the skin about up to here," Clint rubs his finger along an imaginary line about half way up Doug's head, "and then I'll fade it in to what you've got now. I'll leave the top like it is, so you won't look too military--unless that's what you want."

"I'm always game to try something new," replies Doug characteristically. "Luke, what do you think Mom will say if I go home with my head half shaved?"

"I don't know. She didn't like my flattop at first, but she seems ok with it now. I know Dad will love it."

Clint continues, "I'm confident you will like the way it looks and feels, and your parents will, too. I've been a barber for a long time, and I've been cutting flattops since your Dad wore one. Trust me on this one."

I picture my Dad in his waxed flattop and baseball uniform.

"Ok, you can do it!" Doug says with his irrepressible smile.

Clint wraps his hand around the Oster 76 and removes it from its hook. Then he picks up his 5-ought from the counter.

"Here's how you swap the blade." The #2 is flipped out and the 00000 clicks into place.

So fast are his experienced hands that the blade exchange seems almost like a magician's slight of hand trick: blink once and you've missed it.

Clint spins Doug around and pumps the large pedal on the back of the barber's chair. Standing behind Doug, Clint palms his head, placing his left thumb right in the center of his flattop. Then with his right hand, he places the clipper blade flat against his head at the temple and slowly draws the Osters back towards him, clearing a barely visible two inch wide band that runs horizontal above Doug's ear. He switches the clipper to his left hand and repeats on the other side. The two strokes connect at the back of Doug's head.

The result is laughable, with hair below and hair above the now shaved ring that wraps around his head.

"Please don't leave me like this," says Doug wryly. "Mom would not approve!"

"Don't worry, young man. The best is yet to come."

Clint runs hot water over a towel in the sink. "Real warm now." He wraps the towel around the sides and back of Doug's head like a turban.

The shop is quiet for a moment, Doug's eyes are closed, but then the silence is broken by the sound of a razor being readied on its strop.

Clint removes the towel. The hot lather machine whirs as it dispenses cream into Clint's cupped hand. He turns and begins applying it to the lower half of Doug's head.

When his sides are fully lathered, Doug releases a sigh of apparent delight. "You were right. This is the best!"

Like a surgeon with a scalpel, the barber positions his patient's head exactly where it must be and shaves all the hair from the lower half of his head.

Stroke after stroke, Clint wipes away the hair on a towel placed purposefully on Doug's shoulder.

The procedure completed, Doug is once again treated to the hot towel and wiped clean, followed by a splash of bay rum that evokes an "oh!" from my brother.

Clint picks up his Andis Master. "These clippers are different. They are made for tapering--or fading, as your generation calls it." He teaches us how the lever on the side changes the length of the cut from triple-ought (000) all the way to a #1 (1/8 inch).

I watch as he fades the remaining hair on the upper sides of Doug's head. It is a wonder to see him work so quickly, his thumb flicking the lever between strokes to remove more or less hair as pleases his eye.

The shave and taper completed, Clint rubs a hint of butch wax rapidly between his palms, just as my father had shown me to do, and gently deposits it on the top of Doug's upright hair. He brushes the hair back several times, shears a few invisible hairs, and dusts him with talcum powder.

Finally the chair spins around facing Doug to the counter. The hand mirror reveals the flattop to him in all its glory. Doug nods and smiles his approval.

Clint's hands tap my brother's caped shoulders twice, as if to say, "You did well. We're done."

The cape is wisked away and my brother rises. He smiles again at his reflection, leaning into the mirror for a closer gaze. His right hand explores the back of his head as if for the very first time.

He looks Clint squarely in the eye and says with unusual sincerety: "Thank you."

I pay for our cuts, throwing in an extra $10. Clint says he wants to see us back in two weeks.

As we walk outside, the sun hits Doug's golden flattop. He pulls my dad's old aviator sunglasses from his pocket and slides their straight arms back along the skinned sides of his head.

Some people have to work hard to be cool, while for others it just comes naturally. Doug is the latter.

We head towards home, eager to hear our Mom's reaction when she sees her baby boy in his first flattop.

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