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Dad's random choice by Storyteller
I grew up in the 70s and reached teenage in the early 80s. Long hair for boys was practically mandatory. During the very first years of my life my dad still kept me in a routine of cutting my hair short and often, but when I reached the age of eight he gave in and I was able to grow my hair as long as I kept it clean, combed and visited the barber from time to time.
I believe that we were living in a time of financial difficulties, so dad did not insist much on this item of the frequency of barbershop visits. Although I tended to have strong opinions from an early age, I was a good son, a good student and I was always well-mannered and respectful to my elders.
The barbershop that I started to attend when I was six years old was very simple, small, the barber was friendly, he was a man in his sixties, he did not have extremely short hair, neither his hair was long. I thought it was very good that the barber already knew me and I had no need to say what cut I wanted, I just had to say "the usual" and he knew he didn't need to take much off.
When I was fifteen, after the end of winter, my hair reached a length that had never reached before, on the back it was past my shoulders, and my ears, which I thought were very large, were totally covered, it had been many years since my ears have been shown, the bangs were past my lips and I left them combed to the side not to fall into the eyes.
My normally white skin was much lighter under my hair, after so many years without tanning that area of my head. I was very happy with the length of my hair, because at last it was like that of some schoolmates, who I thought had modern parents.
One Saturday morning, dad told me "I'm going to get a haircut, do you want to come with me?" I was a little bit surprised, because dad never gave me this kind of invitation, but I was happy to do something with him and I really needed a haircut, so I said "yes, dad, I can go with you". Dad and I had a great relationship and we left home talking with each other, going down the stairs.
When we left the building, he walked in the opposite direction of the barbershop and I asked "Dad, aren't we going to the barbershop?" and he said "Oh, I have been going to another barbershop, they charge less for the cut", I smiled and followed him, a little worried about what this other barber would be like and having to say how I want my cut, which I never needed to do. But, soon, I resumed the conversation with dad and forgot thoughts about the haircut.
This barbershop was not very far, so we arrived there soon. It was slightly larger than the barbershop I knew, there were three chairs and three barbers working. The barbershop had old furniture and equipment, just like the one I usually went to. The three barbers were busy when we arrived, they were giving the kind of regular cuts that the adult men I knew, like dad, had, short but not extremely short, without the use of clippers.
There were no customers waiting and we sat on a waiting couch after greeting the barbers as we entered. The barber that was closest to the door was the first to be available and said "who's next?" Dad got up and went to the barber chair. The barber caped dad, asked how the cut would be, dad replied and he started the cut exactly as dad had used it for many years. I was distracted reading a comic book.
It didn't take long for the barber at the other end, opposite to the door, to be available and to sign me "it's your turn, now, son". I smiled, left the comic book and went to the barber chair. I greeted the barber again "good morning, Sir" and hopped on the chair. He was the oldest of the three barbers, his hair was very white and cut very short, in a military style, you could see that the sides had just been clippershaved, and the top had very short buzzed hair.
The barber placed an immaculately white, cloth cape around me, with a neckstrip around my neck. He carefully lifted my hair in the back so it wouldn't get stuck inside the cape. He took a comb and started combing my hair, while combing he said that my hair was clean and well combed, but he combed it differently and the bangs were all in front of my eyes. I couldn't see anything.
He turned the barber chair around in a way that the mirror was behind me and, instead of asking me which cut I wanted, he told dad: "How would you like your son to cut his hair?". Dad, who was distracted talking while his barber was making his cut, understood that my barber was just making a comment about what he would like and that I would say what cut I wanted, anyway, so dad said what came to his mind "I would like his hair cut in a very short military style like you." I giggled, because I knew my dad was joking.
However, before I got ready to say how I wanted my haircut, the barber had clippers with #1 blade in his hand holding my head and soon started to run the clippers over the top of my head. I was in shock, without reaction.
I heard the clippers’ noise, felt the blade moving over my head and saw the huge locks falling in front of me. The barber worked very fast, in a few steps he had already done all the work on top and I already felt a different breeze in my head.
Then he changed the clippers blade to a #00000, held my head by the top, I felt his hand touching my head, and he pushed my head down and started running the clippers on the back, from nape almost to the top. An immense amount of hair was falling on the caoe. He moved my head a little at different angles and passed the clippers firmly and quickly. Before long he had clippershaved the whole back of my head. And even faster he did the same to the sides, managing my ears while working around them. I felt the breeze in my ears and head, then.
He didn't talk to me during the whole cut, only at the end he said: "your father will be very happy with the cut", I didn't say anything, just smiled slightly. He dusted my head with a duster brush, then put powder on it and ran it around my ears and on the nape.
He opened the cape, patted my back and said "There, son" and I said "Thank you, sir, dad will pay for the cut". It was so fast that my cut ended even before dad's cut. I went back to the couch and waited, on the way to the couch I could see my hair in the mirror, and I freaked out at how short it was.
Dad hadn't paid attention to anything and didn't even remember the comment he made at the beginning. When he got out of the chair and saw me on the couch with this ultra short hair, he got scared and asked, "What happened?" I was embarrassed and said "I decided to change" and I was already getting up and ready to leave, while he paid for the cuts.
Dad didn't really care much about this haircut issue and on the way home we talked happily about other matters. But when people passed by, I had the feeling that everyone was looking at me and I was hoping that no one I knew would see us and comment on my haircut.
So, suddenly, without meaning to, I became the only boy in the area with a military haircut ...