Flattop High part 3 by Ben Aldy

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When my dad finished my haircut, he brushed my face and turned me towards the mirror. My "boy’s regular" haircut looks good, I think, much better than the overgrown mop I came in with.

"Josh, you’re starting high school now. All the other boys will have flattops, which will make them look older than you. Why don’t you consider...."

Was he really going to suggest it... now?!

"... styling your hair a little more like a man would."

"What do you mean?" I asked, not sure where he was heading with this conversation.

My dad walks to the cash register counter at the front of the shop. The glass cabinet underneath has hair products for sale, and my dad reaches down and pulls something out.

He opens the small box and pulls out the tube within. "This is Brylcreem. It will allow you to style your bangs up and off your forehead a little better... and it smells nice, too."

He positions the open tube under my nose, and I see what he means. I smile at the manly smell... and that he did not suggest a flattop!

"Ok for me to show you?" he asks.

I nod, and he squirts a small amount of the white cream into his hand.

"The Brylcreem slogan is ‘a little dab’ll do ya.’" he says. "‘And the gals’ll all pursue you!’"

He rubs the cream into his hands and then into my hair, and then gently combs every hair into place.

When he is done, my black hair has a slight sheen to it and a perfect wave up off my forehead. The hair on my sides is pushed back and pressed tight around my ears. He shows me the back with his hand mirror—longer at the top, combed straight down into a precision taper at the bottom.

"I think I’ve taken you from a ‘Junior Contour’ to an ‘Executive Contour.’ What do you think?"

I look hard at myself for a moment. "I like it a lot. I might just convince all my new friends to grow out their flattops."

My dad smiles and then frowns. "Don’t do that! I need the flattop business! The boys are going to need their flattops cut about twice as much as you’ll need this cut."

He brushes me off, then uses an air hose to blow off the cape and around my ears and neck.

"Let me shave your neck, and we’ll be done."

My dad loosens the cape from around my neck and tucks a white towel behind my neck to cover my shirt collar. He fills his left hand with hot lather and with the back of his right index finger deposits the warm white foam gingerly across my neckline and around my ears, and then wipes his hands clean. He picks up and opens his straight razor and strops it expertly on the strip of leather hanging from the barber chair. He wipes the blade with another white towel which he lays across my right shoulder.

I feel the fingers of his left hand take a commanding grip on the top of my head, both to position it and to keep me from moving. Then, I feel the short, rapid strokes downward of the cold and unforgiving metal edge of the razor along my neck.

My dad intermittently wipes the razor off on the towel on my shoulder without releasing my head. Ironically, it is during the razor shave that I always feel the most relaxed, knowing that my dad is in control and won’t let me get hurt.

The shave continues with shorter strokes around each ear. I know he is done when my head is released from "the grip," and he lifts the towel from my shoulders and with both hands wipes both ears clean at the same time.

He pulls off the already loosened paper strip from my neck, douses it with Clubman aftershave, and wipes me down everywhere that he has shaved. I feel a brief sting followed by the intoxicating barbershop smell that to me defines a "real" haircut.

"Next time," he says, "I’m going to need to shave that fuzz on top of your lip, too. You’re growing up so fast on me."

He dusts me off once again with his powdered brush before one final combing to ensure perfection.

The cape is removed, and I stand up and take a closer look in the mirror. I do look more grown up. My dad and I grin at each other, as he hands me the tube of Brylcreem.

"Now go get that broom over there," he says pointing to the back corner of the shop, "and help me sweep up this mess of yours."

To be continued.

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