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Unforgettable holidays. by Chovanec

In 1974 I was 13 years old. In this period it was modern for boys or young men to wear long hair, covering their ears, or even for a shirt collar or longer. I belonged to them, too, and four months have passed since my last haircut, and my hair went over the shirt collar. Soon they started their holidays and I was at their very beginning to be with my uncle for a month. So about 10 days before the holidays my father gave me money to be cut.
But I didn't want to go to the barber, so I kept saying that I didn't make it, or that there were a lot of people and that I would go the next day. But I wanted to go to my uncle without shearing, because he had two sons at my age and also had long hair.
Three days before the end of the school year my father waited for me to return from school and immediately after my arrival he ordered me to go to the car. I asked him where we were going, he responded to the barber. But I get there alone, I have 13 years, I don't need an escort. But my father seemed to not hear and continue in the way.
After getting out of the car, we headed for the barber shop, which was about 10 years old boy with unusually short hair. I didn't know why he had such short hair. As he walked beside us I noticed the tears in his eyes, I was very sorry for him.
The barber shop was full. Waiting chairs were occupied and several children were still standing or sitting on their knees. After us came to the barber shop and 2 boys with our school but they were one year older than me. In addition to the three barbers who regularly worked in the barbershop there was another very old barber. Later on, I learned from the narrative that he had worked as an army barber in the past and had been retired for 7 years and had only come to help. My father told the barbers he needed to take off, but he left the son who needed a decent haircut for the holidays and then pointed at me. After about an hour of waiting, I started to talk about which of the four barbers I would go. The original three were fine, but the boys were leaving the old barber with much shorter hair. I remembered the boy we met before coming to the barbershop. I was sure he was the victim of an old barber.
The boy who was in front of me was already going to the barber's chair of one of the original barbers and for the next call I was on the line. I pointed out which of the barbers will sooner cut, the old or old barber in retirement. I was delighted when the original barber finished the job and I was just waiting for his order. Well, he apologized for going on in a while. The old barber called another. I did not hear and that somebody would overtake me, but the boys who came to the barbershop called after me that I was on the line. I walked uncertainly to sit in my chair. After wrapping in a white sail, I tried to say that it was only one centimeter short, but as if I had a stone in my throat, I didn't give a word. But the barber said. Are you the boy who needs a decent holiday hairstyle? I just nodded. He began to comb my hair and then lifted his hair through the comb and began to cut it with classic scissors. It wasn't that bad. But then he took the electric scissors in his hand, tilted my head forward. I felt the metal teeth of the scissors cool on my neck, rising toward the top of my head. I didn't see how short it was but on the sail and the ground fell about 15-20 centimeters hair. Soon he tilted my head to the right and continued to remove the hair on the left. In the mirror I saw my left ear, which was recently hidden under the hair. I stayed horrified but the worst came when I saw a white hair on my ear. While I was recovering, the right side was no hair. The barber swapped his scissors, tilted my head back and cut the hair on the top of his head. He continued to make further adjustments. He put down his scissors and brushed off his hair. In the mirror, I saw an unknown boy with short hair bristles at the top of his head. I waited when he would free me from under the sails. But instead he put a white cream on my hips and my back and continued to shave. After finishing, she wiped the foam with a towel. Proudly and smiling, he stood behind me with the mirror. I looked horribly at what I saw in the back mirror. It was only white leather, and dark-brown hair was about a centimeter long. Before I paid, I noticed the grim smiles of the school boys.
I was crying home. Father welcomed me with a smile and said he wanted me to have shorter hair but when I like this military hairstyle he has nothing against it. I was crying that I didn't like it at all, but that the old barber did it without asking me.
On the last day of the school year, I was the center of attention and ridicule, whether they took me to the army. Even one of the teachers brought me some military promotional materials for military schools. There was a lot of photography with young soldiers and similar hairstyles with mine. Then I remembered that the barber was saying he was making an army barber

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