Why didn't I leave? by Domko

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Why didn't I leave?
When I was 13, my father got a new job and then we moved to a new city. Like most boys, I had long hair. My thick black long hair was envied by several girls.
In the new school, they were more demanding on hair length than I was used to in the past. Most of the boys had hair on their ears and reaching for the collar of their shirts. But my hair was much longer. About 3 times I was warned at school to get a haircut, but I didn't listen and let my hair grow.
I came from school and my mother showed me a letter from the school principal who wrote that I should be cut by Monday. It was only Thursday and I thought it would wait until Saturday, but my mother gave me money with the words: Today I don't have time with my father to go to the barber with you. Now you're going to get a haircut so we don't get another letter from school about your hair.
I didn't know the city yet, so I chose to look for a good barber shop. I walked for about 15 minutes when I noticed two boys and a father entering a barber shop. Both had their ears covered by hair. A moment later, I went to the barber shop with them. When I entered the bottom, the younger of the boys was already sitting in a barber's chair wrapped in a tarp. The boys' father told the barber how to trim the boys and went to sit on a waiting chair. The older boy could be about as old as me and 2 years younger.
I looked at the barber shop, there were old, wooden chairs, old paintings on the walls, and the barber was over 60 years old. I jerked when the barber turned on the electric scissors. I didn't see him cut the boy until he started chasing his hair on one side of his head. I saw the short hair of a boy on the back of his head. I was frightened, I got up and wanted to leave. The barber called me to sit on the waiting chair, that in 10 minutes he would take care of me.
I didn't want hair as short as the younger one had with the boys, but I was reassured that their father wanted such a haircut. Before long, the two boys left the barber shop with short hair.
The barber had already called me to his haircut chair. When I sat down, he asked me if I was new, because he had never seen me before. I told him that we had moved in about two weeks ago and that today a letter came from the school principal that I had long hair. That's why my mother sent me to get a haircut.
In the meantime, the barber has already wrapped me in a tarpaulin and combed my hair. He took his hair and made a tail on the back of his head and stretched the rubber band on it. He took the scissors and began to cut it slowly. I started to panic. When he cut it off, he threw it on the ground so I could see it. He put his hand on my head and began to push it forward. He told me to bend her even more. My chin was already touching the sail. I could feel the cold metal of scissors on my neck, which started at that moment. I jerked. The barber gripped my head more powerfully with the words to sit still. The scissors rose from the neck up to the top. The barber repeated this several times until he tilted my head to the left side and began to chase the hair on the right side of my head, and then did the same on the left side. I noticed in the mirror. I had short hair on my hips but still long on the top of my head. But it didn't take long. For a while, I had them shortened to about 2 and 1/2 inches. Then he combed them to the right and cut the bangs. I thought it was over. The barber picked up fine-toothed scissors. I noticed a few zeros written on them. He leaned his head forward again and started running from the neck with them. The door opened and someone entered the barber shop. I felt cold air in my head. When the barber tilted my head to my side, he shaved my ear and scissors passed him and then around the other. He also made hair adjustments with the help of a comb and mechanical scissors. He applied white foam around my ear and neck, which he gradually scraped off slowly.
When the barber removed my sails, I saw on the sides of my head the contrast of the white skin above my ears with the remaining black hair. I didn't see me being trimmed on the back of my head, but my hips were as short as the boys who were trimmed in front of me.
When I paid for my new hairstyle, the barber handed me a sealed envelope with a link to my parents. I didn't see what he wrote them.
I researched my new hairstyle at home. I had 3/4 inch white arches of skin over my ears and I was hairless on my neck and back from the collar to the middle of the back of my head. I don't remember when I had such short hair.
I gave my parents an envelope with a link from the barber. But that was a big mistake. The barber wrote to his parents: If your son comes to me every 3 weeks at most once a month to cut his hair, you will certainly not receive a notification from the school principal that he has long hair. My parents agreed that the barber was right and I became his regular customer. My hair had barely grown 3/8 inch and I was already sitting in his chair.
There were only boys in our class and there were 29 of us. 19 of them had hair reaching over their ears and on the collar of our shirts. 7 boys had their hair grown long and then got a short haircut and I and two other boys went to the barber regularly every 3-4 weeks.

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