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Change with grandfather. by Jajko

Since the early 1970s, the boys have been fighting with their surroundings to keep their hair as long as possible. At least to cover the ears and touch the shirt collar. If the boy had shorter hair, it meant that I had conservative parents or had to go with his father to a traditional old-fashioned barbershop.
When I was about 13 years old, I only went to a modern barbershop about 4 times a year for little hair styling, nothing drastic. During this period, however, my mother and father went to another state for 3 months on business and in order to take care of me, my grandfather moved to us. He went to school with me on the first morning and then went for a walk in our town to get his bearings.
When I did my homework, when I got home from school, Grandpa told me we were going to have a haircut. I tried to convince myself that the last time I had been editing my hair was less than a month ago. But Grandpa insisted that I need a decent haircut. I convinced him that all the boys in school had long hair, like me. Sometimes only a little boys have a little shorter. I agreed that I would go with them, but that it was only a small adjustment. I wanted to go with him to my modern hairdresser, but he had another look. I almost fell away when we came to an ancient traditional barber shop, whose boys nicknamed a butcher. I refused to enter so he grabbed my sleeve by force and pulled me into the barbershop. There was a little boy in the barber's chair, whose barber began to cut. Three boys with a father and one older gentleman sat on the waiting chairs. All 4 boys were brothers whose father was a cop and did not like long hair in boys. One of the boys was my classmate. When he saw me with a smile, he called me and released me one seat next to him. So you go to this barber, he asked. No, I'm just here with my grandfather today, but just for a little hair styling, nothing drastic.
This has already called another barber. His older brothers from his classmate told him that it was his turn. An already groomed boy sat down on the waiting chair. I looked at his cut head. I do not know how long it took, but next to me you have already cut a classmate. His head looked exactly like his younger brother. He realized that he also always walks cropped. We talked for a while when he reported that they were finished and that he was curious about my hair styling and everyone with the same short hair had left the barbershop. An elderly man sat in the barber's chair, and my grandfather asked me who it was I was talking to. He's a classmate and his brothers. Grandpa just made a remark that I claimed that only small children had short hair. I explained hard to him that this was the only exception, because their father was a cop, so his sons must have the same hairstyle as their father. Grandpa just smiled at that. In the meantime, several elderly gentlemen came to the barbershop. The master of the barber's chair was already finished and I was expecting me to replace him and I was preparing my request for my hair styling. After the barber's call: Another, please, turned from the waiting chair to my grandfather and sat in the barber's chair. I pleased because I thought that I wanted to have my grandfather cut and I would go to the modern salon and continue to enjoy my long hair. Asked by the barber, how do I keep you sir today, Grandpa replied that he liked the haircut of the gentleman who was here with his sons. The barber wrapped his grandfather on a white sheet and began cutting as he wished. Grandpa talked to the barber about customers, work, and grandpa also wondered if the boys and dad had been here for the first time or were regular customers. The barber smiled and replied that the oldest of those boys was 16 and recognized him as a three-year-old. Since then he started dating his father every fourth Monday. Gradually, the other boys joined. Then they talked about sport. As my grandfather got up from the barber's chair, I got up from the waiting chair and was about to leave the barber shop with him. But my grandfather called to me: Where are you going? Come sit here! And he pointed to the barber's stool. In that I felt my stomach clench and I fulfilled my grandfather's request. When the barber wrapped me in a white sheet and asked how it would be today, I wanted to say my request, but my grandfather overtook me and told the barber. This is my grandson and I want you to cut him like I did, grandpa answered. NO, PLEASE THIS SHORT, NO, I cry from desperation. But Grandpa repeated his request to the barber to give me a haircut the same as he had. The barber combed my hair, tilted my head to the right side above my left cheek, and I felt the cold metal teeth of the scissors that started to move toward the top of my head. The first 25 cm of hair fell on the sheet. Again I felt the scissors above the cheeks pointing up toward the top of my head, and in the mirror I saw the scalp start to whiten. The barber shaved my ear and cut my hair above and around my ear. He leaned my head so hard that I touched my chest with my chin and watched my hair fall on the sheet and on the ground. Tears crammed in my eyes, and the barber shook my head brutally until I was tilted to the left. When he cut off the scissors and I saw for a moment in the mirror at the top of my head I still had my nice long hair, but my skin was whitening on my sides. But by now my head was leaning back, and the barber placed a second scissor with the attachment on my forehead and removed my hair from the top of my head. When I had the opportunity to see myself again in the mirror on the top of my head there were only about 2 centimeters of hair and the barber continued to make further adjustments. He applied foam over his ears and neck. When the barber freed me from the sail, he took the mirror in his hands and stood with me to show me my back of my head in reflection. In the mirror, I saw a strange boy with short hair on top of his head and white skin around. It wasn't me either, but rather a young soldier. There was a bunch of my beautiful hair on the ground. My hands looked for my hair at the back and sides of my head but instead my palms felt a sharp stubble. The older gentlemen praised Grandpa for making me a nice boy. That I was like a girl or a hooligan before. When paying his grandfather thanked the barber and told him that he is glad that he recognized him and believes that they will meet again.
We left the barbershop and tears ran down my face. Suddenly somebody is calling to me so I wipe my t-shirt with my tears and look at my voice. He was a classmate we met in barbershop today. He looked at me with a smile and said he was waiting because he was curious about my little hair treatment. He admitted he'd seen a lot of boys who visited this barber, not all of them had drastic hairstyles like me or him, but neither had seen him leave with long hair or hair covering his ears or touching his shirt collar.
Our grandfather entered our interview, who introduced himself to his classmate and asked if it was true that with his brothers and father, regular barber customers were on every fourth Monday. A classmate said yes and therefore on Monday, because in his father's opinion Saturday is too full of barbershop and on Monday there are the least customers. Of course, they are older gentlemen, but sometimes boys. After that, his grandfather told him that he would take care of me for the next 3 months and is very satisfied with the new barber, so he decided that both of us would visit him regularly as new customers. When I heard the intent of my grandfather, I rolled my eyes and stared at him with open mouth. But that was when our classmate said goodbye to us on the way home and then called to me. WELCOME TO THE CLUB!!! At home I was still looking for my hair in front of the mirror. I still thought it was just a bad dream. But it wasn't a dream but it was a reality.
The next day at school I experienced hell. Everybody laughed at me for my new hairstyle. I'd like to run and cry somewhere, but I had nowhere.
My hair grew gradually and when they grew about 1 - 1.5 centimeters and I could no longer see the skin on my head and passed four weeks on Monday morning at school, my classmate would ask if my grandfather and I would go to a barber shop like them. No, I replied.
After returning from school, my grandfather told me that in his calendar it was marked that we should go to the barber today. I begged him not to go there and my hair had a chance to grow but my grandfather insisted. We came to the barbershop rather than a classmate with brothers and father. The barber greeted us warmly and told his grandfather that he was happy to win new customers. When my classmate saw me on the waiting chair, you immediately came to me and mocked: What are you doing here, you told yourself that you are not going to be cut today. I replied that my grandfather wrote down today's date on the calendar so he wouldn't forget what I didn't know. Grandpa got to know their father. And they had a discussion as if they had known each other for years and were best friends. My grandfather was the first to trim my hair and when I left the barber's chair my hair was as short as it was after the first haircut. When I jumped off the chair and wanted to go home with my grandfather, my classmate called me to stay and that we were going home together. Grandpa agreed that he still needed to go to the store and I stay with my friends.
Before my parents came back from abroad, I and my grandfather managed two more visits to the barbershop and I got the nickname REGRUT!

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