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I am going to school. by Chovanec
I am going to school.
English is not my native language, so forgive me for the shortcomings. I am writing a story as I heard it from an acquaintance from the period of 1978.
My name is Michael. In 1978 I started my first year and I was 6.5 years old. I have never been to a barber shop until this time, my hair was groomed by my mother at home. I had them black wavy and long. A lot of people said to me: What a pretty girl your name is.
A few days before starting the first year, a friend who will also go to school for the first time told me that my mother would take him to a real barber shop to be nice when he went to school. I've never been to a barber shop, so I envied him. When I got home, I told my parents that I also wanted to go to a real barber shop and I no longer wanted hairstyles from my mother. At first, my parents didn't respond to my request, so the next day I said that if I didn't go to a real barber, I wouldn't even go to school. My parents said something and then my father took my hand and we went out together. We walked for quite a long time, when a red-blue-white rod twisted in the distance. My father told me there was a real barber shop. I was looking forward to entering there.
When we greeted my father, we sat down on wooden waiting chairs. There was a barber chair in front of us. The barber was an older gray gentleman. And in his chair was also an old man he had cut. There was a boy sitting on a waiting chair, begging his mother for his hairstyle not to be short, but it said that you were going to fourth grade and you had to go nicely cut. Two more old gentlemen were waiting in front of us.
When the boy was trimmed, I saw white skin on his neck and a little above his ears. The old gentlemen also received short cuts. Then it was my turn. The father said that I was his son Michael and that I was going to school and needed a nice boy's hairstyle. The barber set up a tall wooden chair on which my father dropped me off. The barber wrapped me in a white sheet. When the barber combed my hair, he told my father that I had it quite thin and damaged, and suggested that I walk regularly every 3-4 weeks, and when my hair thickens, every 2-4 weeks. He told his father if he would give me a haircut all over his head # 000000. What his father told him today # 0 and on the top of his head # 3.5 .... I didn't know what they were talking about, so I sat motionless and longed for a haircut from a real barber.
He pulled my hair into my tail and cut it. He showed me the length of his tail and dropped it to the ground. When he placed a powerful hand on my head and tilted it back like that. He placed large scissors on his forehead and walked with them over the top of his head. It was like a head massage. He repeated it about 4-5 more times and tilted my head to one side. He walked over the temporal bone to the crown of my head with scissors. Later, he bent my ear and walked around it, continuing along the back of my head to the next side. When I noticed in the mirror I had short hair all over my head as I learned they were about 3/8 inch long. When he gave me the sail down, I thought we were done and I waited for my father to come and help me jump out of the high chair. But he was still sitting on the waiting chair watching me. Meanwhile, the barber dusted the tarp off my hair and twisted it around me once more. He put his hand on my head again and pushed my head forward. I could feel the metal teeth of the other scissors on my neck. He walked with them to the top of his head. They were on their necks again, climbing up the back of their heads. When I angled my head and began to cut my hair with scissors on the other side, I noticed pale skin. He had already shaved my ear and cut my hair over it. Then he crossed to the other side of his head. When he finished his work, he stood behind me with a hand mirror and showed me the back of his head. The back and sides of the head were hairless. There was only about 1/25 inch of stubble on the pale skin. When I was released from the sail with my hands I walked over the back of my head. The stubble scratched my palms.
I wanted to brag to a friend that I was at a real barber. He had a haircut too, but his hair was still long enough. He started laughing at my short hair and then said he was in a modern barber shop and not like me old-fashioned.
There were 12 of us boys in the class at school, seven of whom had short hair, but I had the shortest of them. My parents listened to the barber's advice and for a long time I became a regular customer.