Sundays only by Storyteller

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This story took place in 1977, when I was 11 years old. It was a time when boys had long hair. In some families parents still insisted that their boys cut their hair short, but that wasn't my case. When I was 8 years old, my parents started to set us free to choose how we wanted to have our hair, as long as we went to the barbershop from time to time for a trim.

Especially at that time, in winter, my hair was the longest it had ever been, reaching my shoulders, completely covering my ears, which were huge and pointed, and the bangs, if I left them uncombed, completely covered my eyes, they even got to the lips.

I was an obedient and responsible son and a good student, my long hair was not a form of rebellion, it was just what all boys had and I didn't want to be different, I was afraid of looking weird if I had short hair.

That Sunday afternoon, I had accompanied my mother on a visit to some relatives and, when we were walking in that region, she remembered that she had not seen a friend of hers, who lived in that area, for a long time and could visit her. I made an annoyed face because I thought that it would be boring to wait while she visited her friend. She then saw an open barbershop next to her friend's place and said: "Why don't you take the time and go get your hair cut? You really need it, and it's hard to find a barbershop open on Sunday, and then you start the week with a tidy look" and she was already giving me the money to pay for the cut.

I didn't really like the idea, because it wasn't the barbershop I was used to, but I had already been inconvenient for not wanting to go visit her friend with her and I thought there would be no problem, as the barbershop looked similar to the one I was used to and said "Ok Mom" and she said "Go meet me in apartment 2 in the building next door when you're done".

We said our goodbyes and I headed towards the barbershop. I opened the door shyly, looked around and saw the barber. He was a man in his mid-70s, with white hair and mustache, with a gentle smile. I said "Good afternoon Sir" and smiled and then said "May I come in?" He smiled and said "Good afternoon, sure, come in son" I went in and walked to the center of the barbershop, looking around.

The barber then walked over to the side of his barber chair, patted the seat and said, "You can come up and sit here, son." I smiled and said "Thank you Sir" and climbed up and sat down, adjusting myself neatly in the seat, and into the correct position in the chair. The barber came up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said "What a well-mannered young man you are, son", I felt very proud and said "Thank you so much Sir" smiling.

The barber then took a very large cape, which covered me completely and closed it tight, putting a neckstrip around my neck and making sure my hair didn't get caught inside the cape. He grabbed a comb and started combing my hair. He smiled and asked me "Are you happy to come here, son?" and I, who was enjoying his treatment, said quite confidently, "Yes, Sir." He swiveled the chair around, making its back to the mirror.

He then picked up clippers and said "Oh, good son, I'm sure you'll like military school" and immediately started running the clippers, with blade #1, on top of my head, giant locks started to fall out. I was startled, had such a shock that I didn't say anything for a while as he passed the clippers over the top of my head.

After a while, I finally said "What do you mean which school, Sir?" He stopped for a while, turned off the machine and said "Yes son, it says on the banner outside and the sign there" pointing to the wall "Sundays, only military school cuts" as he rubbed the top of my head, and I felt that the hair there was already cut extremely short.

I was totally embarrassed, and at the same time I thought the damage was already done, as I felt my hair was super short on top, and he was such a nice gentleman and I didn't want to show that it was a mistake, so I quickly thought of something to say "Oh sorry Sir, I got mixed up with the military college, yes of course I'll like the military school, Sir" And he then said "Oh good, I thought there could be a mistake, I could try to fix it, but then let's do the very traditional military school cut anyway" and continued using #1 on the top of my head. I kept quiet.

Then he changed the blade #1 to #00000 and started to run the clippers on the sides and back. He would move my head precisely to one side, to the other and to the front, according to the area where he wanted to make his moves with the clippers.

The cut was very fast and he explained to me, while he was working, that he was used to do this cut very fast as sometimes there were too many students to cut their hair in a short time and I just smiled and nodded.

At the end he swiveled the chair and showed me the cut in the mirror saying "Ready, cut for military school" and ran his hand over my head. He used a duster brush and dusted my head, my ears and the nape, took off the cape and the neckstrip and said "Ready, son, you can come down the chair".

I obeyed and took the money to pay, now looking on the wall at the sign I hadn't seen before, and I said "Thank you so much, Sir" and shook his hand.

When I left I went to the building next door, pressed number 2 and said "please tell my mother I'll wait for her outside", feeling afraid that many people would see me with that haircut, without thinking that the next day I would have to go to school like that...

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