4141 Stories - Awaiting Approval:Stories 1; Comments 2.
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Album: Part 1 by Domko
My father Eric Anderson was born in 1952 and I was born in 1974 and my name is Raul. When I was 13, I found my father's secret diary. He wrote in it about his desires, friends, punishments from parents or school. I also found his story when he was 15 years old, which took place in 1967. He described it as follows:
It's 1967, I'm 15 years old. My role model in the hairstyle is the Beatles boys. I do everything to make my hair as long as possible and reach over my shoulders. My ears are already covered with hair and there are shirts on the collar of my shirt. At home, I keep school photography a secret so my parents don't send me to cut my hair. The night before the photo shoot, my classmate Michael came to me, who had been freshly cut, but his hair still covered his ears. Mom praised his new hairstyle and he admitted that it is because we take pictures at school tomorrow. Mom looked at me sternly and said. You didn't say anything about taking pictures at school. I started stuttering and it turned out that I forgot about it. You have to get a haircut too. I started arguing that it was many hours and my fashionable hairdresser would be closed. She went to her father, who wrote something on a piece of paper and told me to get in the car immediately. We were quiet all the way. We stopped in a parking lot near an old-fashioned barber shop called: Nelsov Barber Shop. He handed me a ticket he wrote at home and money with words. Go, Nelson's still open. I went to the barber shop. There was an elderly gentleman in the barber's chair. I greeted myself and sat down on a waiting chair. Mr. Nelson was about 40 years old, but he was a fear for the young boys, for his drastic hairstyles. I read a report to a barber that my father wrote. Mr. Nelson, my son Eric is taking pictures at school tomorrow. I ask you to give him a decent boyish hairstyle. Well thank you . Thomas Anderson
I prepared myself as a barber to tell me that I only had my hair shortened a little, by a maximum of 1/2 inch. When I sat down in a chair when asked, I handed the barber a ticket. He wrapped me in a white sheet and began to comb his hair. I waited for his question about how it would be today. But he took large electric scissors from the hook and put them on my forehead. He walked over the top of my head to the unpleasant sound of scissors. It was too late to say anything, the barber continued to cut, and when I had the opportunity to lift my head and look in the mirror, I saw a boy there who had hair on his ears but hair on his top of his head was about 3/8 inch long. The barber turned my head and cut the other hair that fell on the white sheet. Soon I had all the hair the same length on my whole head. The barber changed the scissors, tilted my head to one side, and began cutting them from the cheekbone. Tiny hair fell on the tarpaulin and I saw the skin whitening over my ears. Gradually it continued around my whole head until I noticed white skin above the other ear. He made the transition from short to longer hair and I was expecting when he would release me from the barber chair. But by stirring, he foamed the white cream and applied it around the ears and the lower part of the back of the head. He took the razor and began scraping the applied foam. When he finished, he wiped my head with a towel. When you stood behind my back with a small mirror so that I could see myself from the back and side of my head, I almost froze. Smooth skin was visible about an inch above the ears and about 2/3 of the back of the head. I thanked and paid. On the way home, I stroked the back of my head as if looking for hair, but instead I only felt perfectly smooth scalp. At home, my parents praised me, but I went to a room where I cried for a long time.
At school I got a nickname: Sheared sheep. When taking photos, I had the shortest hair probably not only from class, maybe even at the whole school.
I was very interested in this story and I started looking for the mentioned photo in my father's album. When I found her, I couldn't get enough of her. It was exciting but probably also very humiliating towards other classmates. On the other side of the album, I found my father's photo where he was taken alone with his head turned slightly.
I now also have long hair covering my ears, eyes and reaching across the collar. I closed my eyes and imagined how I was forced to get a haircut like this and what the reactions of friends and classmates would be like now in 1987 as a 13-year-old boy. I was very tempted to experience it, but at the same time I was afraid of it.
Sorry for my weak English, not my mother tongue