Refreshingly Different by Just_Me

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Before you start reading this, let me warn you. My mind jumps around a lot, so my story probably will too. As I say to Dad, "Try to keep up." My great-grandfather, Poppo, says I chase lots of rabbits in my head.

I guess I’m pretty lucky to still have my great-grandfather and grandfather around. Our family is pretty tight, and we hang out all the time. I should be ashamed to admit this, but Poppo and Gramps (my grandfather) are handy to have around. They’ll always back me up if I need reinforcements when I’m arguing with Dad about something.

It was fun seeing Poppo, Gramps and Dad together. They all wore the same exact haircut they wore in their senior pictures. Poppo graduated in 1951, and had a boxy flattop. Gramps’ long ponytail, long sideburns and a moustache were classic 1971. Dad’s hair was pure 1996- -think Leonardo Di Caprio in "Titanic" and you’ll have the right look in mind. It was pretty long hair on the top with short hair on the back and slightly tapered in the back. He combed it back, but because his hair was so straight it usually fell in his face, making him look like he was peering through a curtain of hair. Dad put gel in his hair, but it just made his hair look wet. It still flopped in his eyes.

Dad also normally had "designer stubble" with long sideburns, but sometimes he’d be clean shaven for a while, and then sometimes he’d have a beard.

(By the way, exactly when does stubble become a beard? I’ve tried to figure it out, and can’t. Dad has pretty heavy whiskers, and he looks like has a full beard at ⅜", and other men still look they have stubble when it’s a lot longer than Dad’s.)

I remember a time when Dad decided to grow a moustache, but he didn’t get to keep it long--Mom made sure of that. One day we were out in the yard, and Mr. Charles (our next door neighbor) came over. "What happened to the moustache, Wayne? It was looking pretty good."

Dad looked around and didn’t see me (I was behind his truck), "Well, Charles, Gail happened. You know how it is, when the legs close, the moustache goes."

Mr. Charles laughed. "You couldn’t sell her on the idea of moustache rides?"

Dad grimaced, "Well, she liked that well enough, but not enough to let me keep the moustache."

It took me a long time to figure out what Dad meant.

Oops, there I go, forgetting to stick with my story. Anyway, Poppo thought a flattop was the only haircut Mother Nature meant for men to have, and he gave Gramps and Dad hell over their hair. It didn't seem to phase either one of them. To be truthful, Poppo gave me hell too, but I learned at an early age to ignore him.

Hair length wasn't a big deal in our house. Poppo was the only one who cared. When I was little, Mom kept my hair fairly short because she couldn’t get me to be still long enough to comb it. After I got older I was able to wear whatever style I wanted, and nothing was said. I typically kept it pretty long--somewhere between what Gramps and Dad had. In fact, some of my friends picked on me about having "girly" hair. I didn't care, I liked my hair. It was different from what everyone else was wearing. Although I wore my hair long, by the time I hit my teens I was completely fascinated by short hair on others. Maybe it was because Poppo always had a flattop and I thought he was pretty cool. I guess my fascination could’ve been caused by having to get my head shaved when I was about seven.

Let me tell you about that. I had snuck away from Dad and went into the garage. I found a tube that looked like what Dad put in his hair, and rubbed it in my hair. A few minutes later Dad came looking for me. I remember exactly what I said. "Look, Daddy. I put stuff in my hair, and now I look like you."

Well, as you probably figured out, I hadn’t put gel in my hair. It was some sort of glue. Dad managed to get the glue off my hands with solvent, but was afraid to use solvents on my head. Mom came in, and screamed at Dad when she found out what was going on. She really gave Dad hell. About fifty times she said something like, "Wayne, I blame you for this. Why in the world weren’t you watching him, and why in the world would you leave glue where Chad could get into it? You know if he can get into something he will."

(I tried really hard to be a good kid. I was always polite, and I never did something that I’d been told not to do. It just seemed like I couldn't walk into a room without something breaking. My curiosity often got the best of me. I was very adept at taking things apart, but never could quite figure out how to put them back together.)

Anyway, on with the story. Mom and Dad tried everything they could think of to get the glue out of my hair, but nothing worked.

Dad finally gave up on getting the glue out and called my grandfather. "Poppo, I need your help. Would you take Chad to your barber in the morning?"

"I’ll be happy to, Wayne. What are the chances of me getting you to go with us? I’d love to have Vern do something with your hair."

"Nice try, Poppo, but I like my hair just like it is. Anyway, I’m asking you to take him because I can’t take off work."

The barber died laughing, and almost choked when he said, "I’ve been cutting hair for almost fifty years, and I’ve never seen anything like this." He looked at Poppo, "The glue’s all the way to his scalp, and my clippers won’t go in there. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do but take a straight razor to this mess, and even that’s not going to be easy. If he didn’t look so bad, I’d tell you to let it grow for a week or two, so I could get in there easier."

Poppo sighed, but there wasn’t anything he could do. "Do what you have to, and may God have mercy on my soul."

Dad was in the doghouse so long over that one that the dog started thinking it was Dad’s house.

Anyway, back to my story. Maybe my fascination with short hair didn’t have anything to do with the glue incident. I don’t know. (I’m not always the smartest person in the world.) Even though I was attracted to people with short hair, I’d never made the natural connection that I could get my own hair cut short. Sure, I’d thought, "I wonder what I’d look like with a haircut like that" but I’d never really thought about doing it.

I sometimes wondered if I was gay (or at least bi), because the idea of a short haircut gave me such a sexual thrill. Seeing anyone with short hair (woman or man) could bring my "thingamajig" to attention pretty quickly.

As I got older I started thinking about doing something different with my hair, but I never could figure out what I wanted. I tried a few things (my two worst failures were a mullet and fauxhawk), but nothing ever felt right. Like I said, I kinda liked my hair long, but I wasn’t sure it was my "forever" haircut. I wanted to figure out what my "forever" haircut would be before I graduated because I wanted to be like Poppo, Grandpa and Dad. I wanted to have my "forever" haircut by the time I took my senior pictures. I had this idea it would be fun to have a picture taken of Gramps, Dad and me wearing our high school haircuts on my fortieth birthday.

There I go, chasing rabbits again. I’m going to try not to stray from the beaten path again.

I had always been fascinated by the Fifties (as my constant perusal of Poppo's yearbook proved) and in my junior year I heard that a local community theater was going to do a production of "Grease". I surprised everyone (and myself) by trying out for a role.

I don’t know what made me decide to audition. Heck, I wasn’t even in drama or choir, but I'd always loved to sing. (I had tried piano lessons when I was young, but it didn’t take the teacher long to call Dad. "I’m sorry, Chad has no talent for the piano, and he’s too hyper to try to learn. You’re wasting your money on piano lessons. You might try a vocal coach though. He has a great voice.") I did take voice lessons for a while, until I got into baseball, soccer and football. There just wasn’t time for voice lessons too.

Anyway, I went to the audition. I didn't think I had a chance in hell of getting a role since I’d never acted, but I couldn’t help but hope. I thought it would be fun to immerse myself in that era.

The week after the auditions was the longest week I’d ever endured. I drove Mom and Dad crazy. The first part of the week, they were pretty patient, and tried to be helpful, saying things like, "Son, stop pacing. It’s not going to help." "Why don’t you go try reading a book? Maybe it’ll help you relax." By the end of the week, Dad yelled, "Chad, sit your ass down, shut up and be still!"

I freaked out when the director called me back, and asked me to come back in for another audition. I didn’t know what it meant, but Mom and Dad talked me down, and assured me it was a good sign.

After the callback, Mom finally hit on a solution. "Chad, why don’t you start learning the role that you really want? Maybe the Universe will take it as a sign that you’re serious, and help you out."

I spent every spare moment after that reading the script and learning the music. I watched the movie endlessly, and tried to learn the dance steps.

Mom and Dad got to live in relative peace for a while.

I was in pre-calculus when the director called me back. I ran out of class to answer my phone. We talked a bit, but I don’t remember much of what she said. I do remember how I was shaking when I called Mom. I almost yelled when I said, "I did it! I got the lead. I’m going to be Danny Zuko!"

I skipped school the rest of the day to research the role and the era. I spent hours on the internet, and went to the library to look at all the reference books. Even though I had already researched things, it felt like I was looking at it from a different perspective. Somehow while I was looking, my fascination with short hair became an obsession. Each young man I looked at filled me with an intense longing to look like the person I was looking at. I thought, "Hell, the spirit of the Fifties is possessing me now!"

The burrs intrigued me, and I wondered what it would feel like to have nothing but stubble on my head. The crewcuts with bumpers fascinated me. I was enamored with the flattops. I thought, "Chad, you've always been fascinated with those. How many hours have you spent staring at Poppo's?" I really studied the guys with greased back hair, since that's what I thought I'd be doing to my hair.

I had the strangest thought as I was looking at a guy with a great pomp and greased back sides. "I wonder what his pillow case looked like in the morning?"

I bought some Brylcreem on my way home, and decided to see how my hair looked greased up.

I was disappointed. No matter how I combed my hair, it didn't look like the guys in the yearbook. I couldn't figure out why at first. Then it dawned on me. "Chad, your hair's too long. You're going to have to get it cut if you want it to look right."

I answered myself. "I don’t want a haircut!" I kept trying to make my hair do what I wanted it to do, and finally gave up. I washed the Brylcreem out of my hair and went to bed.

The morning after my first rehearsal I started in on Mom and Dad. "Hey guys, I really need a black leather jacket for my role. Will you get me one?"

Mom said, "I thought the theater provided the costume."

"Well, they do...sorta. The jacket they have doesn't look that great, and it's a little small on me too, and the budget’s too small for them to get a new one. Anyway, I'd like to have one of my own. I think they're pretty cool."

Dad spoke up. "Chad, a leather jacket is expensive and I'm not wasting my money on one that you'll never wear again. You'll have to make do with what the theater supplies."

Mom tried to intervene, and Dad stopped her. "Gail, we're not going to do it."

I was disappointed and felt really depressed until that night. Dad didn't know I was around, and I heard him say, "Gail, Chad's birthday is coming up. What if we get him that jacket as an early birthday present?"

I had a hard time not yelling out my approval of the idea, but managed to keep quiet until I got in the bedroom. I did all kinds of weird dances, just to let my emotions out.

I settled down and was thinking about how Dad was always saying, "Chad, you’re gonna get your ears burned some day with all your eavesdropping."

I giggled when I thought, "Maybe so, Dad, but this time I’m glad I overheard you. It made me feel a lot better."

About that time Dad knocked on the door. "Can I come in?"

"Come on."

"Chad, I know you were disappointed when I said no to the jacket, and I want to explain why I said no."

I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling at his subterfuge. "It's ok, Dad. You're right. It is a lot of money. I'll see if I can get some jobs on the side to get the money. I have an hour or so a day I can work it in between football practice, school and play rehearsals." I cautioned myself. "Don't lay it on too thick, Chad. He might get suspicious if you do."

"Chad, I appreciate your willingness to work, but I really don't want you to do that. We need you focused, so you can keep your grades up and get a scholarship. That’s why I said no. I'm trying to save every penny I can for your college."

"Ok, Dad. Thanks for letting me know why you wouldn't get me the jacket. I guess I'll survive without it."

I really got into the role, and even started dressing from the era when I wasn't rehearsing. At first it was just rolled up jeans, a white t-shirt and some Converse shoes. Then I went to a thrift shop and bought a few bowling shirts from the period. A few days later I was back and bought a vintage Hawaiian shirt. (Going to the thrift store was exciting because I could buy things for just a few dollars, and look outlandish according to the standards at school. I liked the extra attention.)

I was in the thrift shop all the time, buying things. Heck, the owners and I became friends. The more I researched the 1950s, the more I wanted to look like the era. I bought penny loafers, sweater vests, plaid shirts and pointed-toe cowboy boots. Anything that looked vaguely Rockabilly came home with me. I even bought some preppy stuff: cardigan sweaters, button-down shirts and thin ties. I looked for a black leather jacket, but there was never one in the right size--and within my budget.

The day before our dress rehearsal, Miss Parker pulled me aside and said, "Chad, the hair on your neck is a little long. Would you mind getting some of the length on the back cut? It’d make you look more authentic."

"No problem, Miss Parker. I’ll get it done before the dress rehearsal."

I did some more research the next day, and I found a picture in a book that really spoke to me. It was exactly what I wanted. I got excited, and started talking to myself. "This is it! This is the look I want! I’m going to do it."

I started trying to talk myself out of it. "Chad, this isn’t exactly what one would expect a character in ‘Grease’ to look like." "You’re right, but it would work. Go for it!" "What will Miss Parker say? She could give the role to someone else if she doesn’t like it." "I don’t care. I like it."

I took a picture of the page with my phone, and then looked around for a librarian. I didn't see one, so I tore the picture out of the book. I was sure everyone in the building heard the page ripping and expected to be snatched up by a librarian. I ran out of the library before I could get caught.

I drove a few blocks, thinking the whole time. I pulled into a parking lot and called Poppo. He answered, and I didn’t even say hello. "Are you home?"

He chuckled. "Well, the last time I checked I was. The phone is in the house, so I guess I’m home."

I thought, "He’s the one I got my smart-ass tendencies from." I was too excited to get sidetracked though. "Cool! Can I come over?"

"I ain’t got no plans. What did you have in mind?"

"I’ll be there in ten minutes. I need to talk to you about something."

He sounded concerned. "Are you OK?"

"I think so, Poppo. I think I’m better than ok. See you in a little bit." Then I hung up without saying, "I love you" which is something I never did.

He was sitting on the porch when I got there. "Well, you look like you’re fine. What’s so important?"

"Does your barber know how to do old-fashioned haircuts?"

"Boy, that’s a pretty dumb question. The last time I checked, my flattop is about as old-fashioned as it gets, and he cut it. I’d say that means he knows how to do old-fashioned haircuts. Why are you asking? Are you finally going to do something with that mess on your head?"

"I’m thinking about it. Let me show you something." I went to the car and got the picture. I shoved it at Poppo. "Do you think he’d know how to do this?"

He whistled and said, "I’ll be damned! If you’re gonna get a short haircut, why don’t you just get a real haircut like mine?" I explained the role I was playing, and how I needed to look like a greaser, but I wanted to do something a little different. He muttered, "I always thought those damned greasers were fools."

He looked at me. "You’re really thinking about this?"

"Yes, sir. I am. What do you think? Will I look OK with this type of haircut?"

"Anything would look better than the crappy look you’ve got going on now."

I laughed. "I’m serious, Poppo. Do you think a flattop with fenders would look good on me?"

He looked shocked, but he answered. "I don’t see why not. Everyone says you’ve got my forehead, and I’ve been told a few times I look good in a flattop, so you should too."

"Would you like to go with me to the barber?"

"Is the Pope Catholic? Of course I’d like to go if it means I get to see you get rid of that mop. When do you want to go?"

"There’s no time like the present. Can you go now?"

"Absolutely, I was gonna head over there later. I’ll just get my hair cut after he gets done with yours." He started walking toward the car. He stopped about halfway there and turned around. "What are you waiting for? Let’s go!"

"Do you need anything from the house?"

"All I need is for you to get your ass in the car. Let’s go."

"Well, at least let me lock the door."

"To hell with locking the door. I ain’t got a damned thing worth stealing anyway. Let’s go."

I started driving, and Poppo started giving me directions. I said, "I know where your barber is."

He looked at me suspiciously. "Are you sure? You sure as hell don’t look like you have an idea what a barbershop is, much less where one's located."

"Vern's, over on Second Street, right?"

"If you knew that, why the hell haven't you been there and got a decent haircut?"

I ignored that comment. I'd learned a long time ago to ignore Poppo when he started ranting about haircuts.

As we were driving, Poppo gave me a complete history of his flattop. In case you’re wondering, he got his first flattop in 1949, and he’s kept it since then, except for about five months in the spring of 1971. That was the year Gramps graduated, and he asked Poppo to let his hair grow out. It seems Poppo was the only father of the men in the graduating class who had a flattop, and Gramps wanted Poppo to look like everyone else.

Poppo mumbled, "The damned fool was embarrassed to be seen with a man with a real haircut." He grumbled, "I don’t know why I called my son a damned fool. I was the damned fool. I agreed to let my hair grow out. It just about drove me crazy while it was growing. It stuck out this way and that." He growled, "I would’ve cut it off, but I’d gave the fool my word, so I kept it. Stupidest damn thing I’ve ever agreed to." A big frown crossed his face when he said, "The sorry bastards who planned that graduation did it on a Saturday afternoon and the barbershop was closed by the time those long-winded so-and-so's finally shut up. I had to put up with that long hair until Tuesday morning when Vern opened up. Let me tell you, my ass was sitting in front of the shop when he got there, and I went in and got another damned flattop. He couldn't get that mess off my head fast enough to suit me. I ain't had long hair since then, and don't plan on it either." He smirked. "I threw away my damned comb and haven’t owned one since." He looked pleased with himself.

His final words on the subject were, "I expect I’ll have a flattop until the undertaker hauls my sorry carcass away."

I pulled up in front of the shop and wasn't impressed. To my mind's eye, it looked a little shabby. I looked in the window and thought, "This place should be in a museum."

We walked into the barbershop, or more realistically, Poppo grabbed my arm and dragged me into the barbershop. He was walking so fast I had a hard time keeping up with him.

I almost turned around and walked out when I saw the barber. He looked older than Methuselah. Poppo was eighty-six, and I figured this barber was about the same age.

The barber was cutting someone’s hair when we got there, but he said, "Hi James. I’ve been expecting you."

Poppo ignored the barber’s greeting. "Vern, hurry up and finish that haircut you’re doing. This boy is in need of some immediate attention."

Vern said, "Hold your horses. He’s young, and ain’t gonna die before I can get to him."

"Vern, he might be young, but I ain’t. I wanna see this boy with a decent haircut before I die. Now hurry your ass up." Poppo grumbled a little bit, and then spoke up again. "You’re right, he’s young, and young folks are known to change their mind. I want him in that chair before he gets a wild hair and runs out of here." Poppo got a look on his face that I knew meant some sort of mischief was coming. "Of course, if your ugly looks didn’t make the boy run out of here, ain’t nothing gonna run him out here."

Vern did a double take, and then burst out laughing. "James, is this the rubber cement kid?"

I’m sure the look on my face told him what he needed to know. Of course Vern had to tell the customer in his chair the story, and of course the customer had to laugh about it.

It didn’t take Vern long to finish up, and then he asked me to have a seat. After he had the cape and tape on me, he said, "What’ll it be?"

I pulled the picture out and said, "Do you know how to do one of these?"

"Well, I’ll be damned. It’s been about forty years since I’ve done one. I may be older than dirt, but I expect I remember the how of it. How do you want the back?"

"I want a DA in the back."

Poppo spoke up. "He wants to look like a greaser, so give him a DA, but taper it some. That’ll be the best look for him."

Vern looked at me. "Are you OK with that?"

Poppo answered for me. "Hell, he’s just a kid. He don’t know his ass from a hole in the ground yet. Just do what I said."

I nodded. "That’ll be fine sir. Do whatever Poppo said."

I’d never been in a barbershop (except for the glue incident), but I was excited. Maybe a little scared because of the tales I’d heard about people being scalped, but mainly eager to see what I was going to look like

Vern must’ve thought I was scared. He took on a tone of voice I’ve only ever heard when someone was talking to a scared child. "What’s your name, son?"

"Chad, sir."

"Chad, I take it you’ve never had a haircut like this before."

"No, sir. My hair’s always been pretty long--except when you shaved it, but I really want this type of haircut."

"Well, don’t get scared. I know what I’m doing, and I’ve done a lot of these types of haircuts. I’m telling you that it’s probably going to feel like I’m going too short, but I promise I won’t. I’ll leave your hair a little longer than that picture you showed me. It’ll make it look a little more greaser-ish. Will you trust me?"

"What choice do I have now, since I’m sitting in your chair, and you’ve got this cape on me?" went through my mind. I didn’t say it though. Instead, I said, "Yes, sir. Poppo’s hair always looks good, and he told me you’d been cutting his hair for at least forty years. He trusts you, so I’ll trust you too."

"Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s old and he forgets lots of things. I’ve probably been cutting his hair for almost sixty years."

Poppo grumbled, "Forty years or sixty years, either way, it’s too damned long to have been putting up with your smart ass. I should’ve changed barbers the first time I came in this shop."

I looked at myself in the mirror, trying again to figure out what I’d look like. My imagination wasn’t up to the challenge.

Vern ignored Poppo. "This is quite a change for you, Chad. What brought it on?"

I got a little animated, and probably a little long-winded as I explained about getting the lead in the play "Grease". I explained how I wanted something a little different than the normal greased back look you see in most productions.

Poppo spoke up. "Dear god, all this damned gossip makes it sounds like I'm at a church social. Are you going to cut the boy's hair or not?"

"OK, ok. I'll cut his hair." He looked at me. "Do you wanna watch?"

"I think so."

He turned the chair so I was looking straight into the mirror and asked, "Ready, Chad?"

I was so excited that my voice squeaked. "Ready as I'll ever be. Let's do it."

"Are you nervous?"

"Not really...well, maybe a little, but mainly I’m stoked."

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do before I do it, just to make it easier on you."

"That'd be great. Thank you."

Vern said, "OK. I'm going to start by cutting the length off the back with a pair of scissors. Nothing to be afraid of there, is it?"

He picked up the scissors and I heard the crunch of hair being cut.

I reached up and rubbed my neck. It felt strange without hair.

"That wasn't too traumatic, was it?"

"No sir. So far, so good." (I thought, "I'm not a baby, you don't have to be so simple" but I didn't say anything.)

"My next step is going to be cutting some of the length off the sides. Are you good with that."

"Let's do it."

Poppo spoke up again. "Vern, when did you become a sports commentator? Stop giving a blow by blow explanation. The boy knows he's here to get a haircut. Give him a damned haircut and stop preaching a sermon."

Vern combed my hair straight forward, and made a U-shaped part all around the top of my head. The back and sides were combed straight down too. Then he parted it about an inch over my ears, and combed the part between my ears and the top of my head back. "That’s going to be your fenders. I’ll deal with them later."

"I’m going to cut your hair above the ears now." He picked up the clippers, and for the first time in my memory a pair of clippers were used on my hair. He ran them around my ear (I hadn’t seen my ears since I'd tried a mullet several years before. The mullet didn't last long. I started letting my hair grow back the day I got it cut.)

I stopped him. "Excuse me, I can’t see what you’re doing. Can you move the hair out of my eyes?"

"Gladly!" He picked up a pair of scissors and roughly whacked the front off about an inch below my hairline. He said, "Done!" I looked at the hair as it hit the cape and thought, "Holy crap! Was my hair really that long?"

He laughed when I said, "Well, I can definitely see things now."

He picked up the clippers again, and started cutting without explaining what he was doing. I guess he was enjoying cutting my hair too much to bother, or else he figured I was past the point of no return.

I got my first hint of what I was going to look like after he did the fender on one side. The top wasn't done, but the short bangs were close enough that I could see I was going to look better than I'd hoped. I thought, "I wish I hadn’t asked to see what he's doing. It would've been fun to see my old self one last time, and then seeing a completely new me the next time I saw myself." I shrugged. "Oh well, Chad. He just did what you told him to."

Vern got the sides done, and then he started on the back. He ran the clippers up a lot higher than I thought he should, and worked a long time. I could tell when he started on the DA. It felt like what I thought it should. When the back was done to his satisfaction, he said, "Feel that. What do you think?"

I laid my hand on my neck again, and it seemed strange. Vern grabbed my hand and ran it toward the top of my head. My god. I almost had a spasm. The tapered part felt so good!

He started taking the length off the top.

He kept cutting, getting shorter and shorter. He stopped cutting and rubbed some gooey stuff in my hair, and took a blow dryer, and made sure every hair was standing up. Finally he took a big, funny-looking comb and laid it on the top of my head. The comb fascinated me. I’d never seen anything like it. He started running the clippers over the comb and I saw the rough shape of a flattop forming. My cock reacted. Watching him cut my hair had me so mesmerized that I don't think I blinked.

He settled in, cutting the top. It seemed like he cut forever, and he talked to himself the whole time. "Just a little lower on that back left side." "Be careful now, and don't get that too short. He ain't going for a landing strip." "I'll be a son of a bitch! Where did that hair come from? I thought I had them all."

It was fun listening to his running dialogue with himself.

I watched every move he made, and was thrilled with the way it was turning out. I wasn't 100% sure it was the best look for me, but I really thought it was a great look. I knew I'd be the most original Danny ever on the stage.

I thought he was done after he got the top done. Apparently I was wrong. He started doing what I assumed was touch ups, and it seemed like Vern was all over the place. He'd comb the sides and cut a bit, and then did the same on the back. Next he cut the top a bit more.

I heard a strange whirring sound, and then Vern spread what looked like shaving cream around my neck and ears. He pulled out a straight razor, and I got a little apprehensive. I had nothing to fear though. He just shaved a little off the edges. He put more wax on the top and enough oil on the sides to grease an engine. My hair was shining like diamonds in the sun. I could imagine what it was going to look like when the spotlights hit it.

I thought, "I guess I'm going to get to see what a pillowcase looks like after someone's slept on it with slicked back hair."

After a final run through my hair with a comb, he took the cape off, and said, "All done. Whatcha think?"

I got up and walked to the mirror. I changed my mind about it not being the best look for me. I was completely enthralled with the new me. My smile went from ear to ear. I felt the top and thought, "Chad, that's an awesome feeling." Then I rubbed the taper on the back. I grinned at myself. "You did it! You found your forever haircut. This is what you're going to be wearing in that picture with Gramps and Dad."

I got a little sad thinking that Poppo wouldn't be around for my fortieth birthday. Then I thought, "I could do it on my thirtieth birthday. He'll probably live to be a hundred, and that would be the year I turned thirty."

Vern and Poppo spoke at the same time. "What do you think?"

"I wasn't sure what to expect, since I've never seen a flattop with fenders except in the history books."

Poppo grumbled, "Watch it with the history book references. That's my teen years you're talking about."

I grinned. "If the shoe fits..."

Vern said, "I'm with him about the history book references." He looked at me. "I think the smile tells me, but you never said what you thought about your haircut."

I looked at myself some more. "I LOVE it! I think I just found my forever haircut. It’s just different enough to keep me from blending into the crowd but it's not so outlandish that I looked like a freak. Thank you Mr. Vern. I owe you one."

Poppo spoke up. "Hmph! Forever haircut? Boy, Vern ain't gonna be cutting hair too much longer. You'd better find a barber who ain't ancient if you want to keep this look."

I thought! "Leave it to Poppo!"

I looked at Poppo. "What do you think?"

"It's a helluva lot better than it was." he patted his flattop. "I still wish you'd gone with one of these beauties."

Vern chortled. "Chad, you’re going to have to be mighty careful. A flattop wearer is more fanatical about making converts than any cult leader I’ve ever heard of. Old James is going to be trying mighty hard to get you over to his way of thinking."

"Of course I am. It’s the best haircut on the planet, and I just want to share it with the boy, and by the way, who are you to be calling me old? You’re so old you used to ride a dinosaur to school." He looked at me. ""It’s my turn now. Move over, boy."

Vern spoke up. "Wait just a minute there, James. I still have to show Chad how to comb his hair."

"What the hell is there to learn about combing your hair? You put a comb in it, and move the comb through the hair. The boy’s smart enough to figure that out without you telling him what to do."

"There’s a trick to making it look right. Have a seat, Chad.’

I thought, "Oh no, not again! I’ve sat there for half the day." I was obedient though, and sat down.

Vern pulled out a can of butch wax. "There ain’t much to learn about combing the top here. The secret is learning how much wax to use." He put some on his hand and said, "Use about this much," and then he talked me through working it through my hair thoroughly. "The rest is easy. You just take this little brush and make sure every hair is standing straight up." Then he picked up the comb. "There ain’t much to tell you about how much oil to put on the sides. You put as much on as you want to, but I do have a little trick for you. Get some Vaseline. It shines better than anything, and it’s thick enough it keeps your hair from falling out of place. Try it." He combed the fenders. "The tricky part about your haircut is getting the fenders and DA right. Now most people just comb the fenders straight back, but that doesn’t work too well. You’ve gotta comb the fenders up toward the top of your head, so you get this graceful line." He turned me toward the mirror, and showed me what he was talking about. "Now, for the DA. You start by combing the back straight down. Can you see what I’m doing?"

"Yes, sir. That looks kinda strange."

"Well, hold your horses. It’s really important that you comb the center part right. It ain’t gonna look good if you don’t. Next you’re gonna do what you think you should do. You just comb each side toward the center, but comb it slightly up, just like you did the sides. You’ll get a much better look that way."

I thought, "Well, I’ll be damned. He’s right. It does look better that way."

After thanking him profusely, I tried to pay Vern. He refused. "Chad, the trip down memory lane was worth it. This one’s on the house."

Poppo grumbled, "It took you long enough to cut his hair. I thought I was going to have to call the undertaker to come get me."

I looked at myself in the mirror the whole time Poppo was being caped up. Vern interrupted my admiration of myself when he asked, "Chad, have you ever seen a flattop being cut?"

"No sir."

"It's quite a bit different than what I did for you. Have a seat right in front of us, and I'll talk you through it." I reluctantly left the mirror, and sat down. Vern put some wax in Poppo's hair and combed it straight up (As if Poppo's flattop hadn't been perfectly combed. It always was). Then pointed at the side. "Right here is where the biggest difference is going to be between your haircut and James’. How the sides are blended into the top separate the amateurs from the pros. It's a real skill, and it takes a while to master." He kept talking. "There are several varieties of flats, but James here prefers a boxy flattop. I've tried for years to get him to try another variety, but he's stubborn and won't budge."

"Ain't no need to fix it if it ain't broke!"

"Have you ever heard that variety is the spice of life?"

"Screw that. I like what I like. Now cut my damned hair."

"One of these days I'm going to have an 'accident' and you'll have to try something else."

"That'll be the day I get another barber!"

"Go ahead and try. No one else will put up with a contrary old goat like you."

"Hmph! I might have to see about that. Do you have any recommendations on who I might try?"

"Dave over at Pierce Street Barbershop is about as ornery as you are, and I've always hated him. I'd love for you to go torment him and leave me alone. Give him a try."

"Oh, shut up and cut my hair."

Vern laughed.

I thought, "Those two must go after each other like that all the time. It’s kinda fun to watch."

For the first time in my life I got to watch a flattop being cut, and it was almost as fun as watching my own hair being cut. I think Vern realized he had an audience, and he played to me. I really enjoyed the show, and had the proof of it in my pants.

I was amazed by how much time it took, and realized it was a complicated haircut.

I also understood why Poppo got frustrated with all the talking Vern had done. Vern explaining everything to me really slowed the process down. Plus, when he wasn’t talking to me the two of them were talking almost non-stop. All that chatter was getting on my nerves. I pulled a Poppo. I tried to sound like him when I said, "This here is a barbershop, not a sorority party. You two stop the gossiping and let’s get this haircut done!"

That earned me a laugh, but didn’t speed up anything.

I almost had a wreck on my way back to Poppo’s. He slapped me on the back of the head. "Pay attention to where you’re going and stop looking at yourself in the mirror."

"Yes, sir."

I had to sneak a look at myself again to make sure Poppo hadn’t messed up my hair when he slapped my head.

We got to his house, and he said, "I've got something I want to show you. Come on in the house, boy."

For about the millionth time I thought, "I wonder if Poppo even remembers my name. He's never called me anything but ' boy'."

I went in with him, and he pointed at the couch. "Have a seat, boy. I'll be back in a minute." He started out of the room, and then turned around and looked at me. He grinned. "Try not to break anything while I'm gone!"

I sat there for a while and finally picked up one of the velvet pillows he had on the couch. It had a button in the middle of it and I started twisting the button. It came off in my hand just as Poppo walked in. He shook his head and said, "Boy, I thought I told you not to break anything!"

He didn't look mad, so I put the button on the coffee table and tried to look innocent.

He had something wrapped up in paper in his hand and I asked, "Whatcha got there, Poppo?"

"Boy, this here is a piece of ancient history, and I ain't sure I should let you get your hands on it." He looked at the button on the coffee table. "If you tear this up I'll tan your hide. Do you hear me?"

I pulled my hands back, acting like I was scared to touch his package. "Knowing me, you'd better unwrap it Poppo, and I'll just look. Whatever you’ve got there should be safe as long as I’m only looking. I don't think I've ever broken something by just looking at it."

"Boy, there's always a first time. Try not to look too hard." He shook his head again. "I swear, I’ve never seen anyone who can break as much as you do."

I nodded. "I wish I could argue with you about that, but I can't." Curiosity got the best of me. "Come on, Poppo. Show me what you've got there."

"This here was one of my prized possessions when I was your age."

I recognized the tone of voice. My inner voice said, "Chad, you ain't gonna see whatever he's got for a while. That's his story-telling voice. You're gonna be here for a while."

I picked up another pillow to give my hands something to do, and thought better of it. I carefully put the pillow back and halfway listened to Poppo and rubbed my hands up the back of my neck. It felt as good as the velvet pillow, and I thought there was less chance of me breaking my neck than there was of me hurting the pillow.

Thinking about me breaking my neck reminded me of a story Mom and Dad often told. It seems that when I was little they were always saying things like, "Get down from there before you break your neck." Well, one day I fell and hurt my knee. I guess I didn't know my neck from my knee and I limped into the kitchen crying, "I bwoke my neck. I bwoke my neck."

My parents always got a kick out of telling that story.

Damn! Sorry I just went down another rabbit trail. OK. Back to Poppo. I hadn't listened to half of his story, but started paying attention after my trip down memory lane. By the time I started listening again, he was winding down. He looked at me. "Boy, you didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

Like a smart-ass, I said, "Well, maybe a word or two."

"Well, I was just telling you how I got this. I thought you might want it."

He tore the paper off and it was a 1950's letterman sweater.

My jaw dropped! I reached out and touched it reverently. "This was yours?"

"You'd know the answer to that if you'd been listening to me for the last ten minutes instead of woolgathering." His tone of voice told me he wasn't upset.

I instantly felt bad. His response was like he was reading my mind. "Hell, boy. Don't feel bad about not paying me no never mind. I'm old, but I remember how boring old men can be. What do you think about the sweater? Would you like to have it?"

"Would I like to have it? Are you serious? Oh my god. That would be amazing. I'd look kickass in it!"

I realized what I'd said. "Oops! Sorry about saying that, Poppo!"

He laughed at me. "Why are you sorry? Do you think I've never heard someone swear before?" Then he smirked. "I think you'd look kickass in it too!"

I put it on, and it fit perfectly! I hugged him with tears in my eyes. He had tears in his eyes too.

He pushed me away. "Enough with the emotional BS. Just do me a favor."

"Anything, Poppo."

He smirked. "Just don't tell me when you tear it, rip it or otherwise destroy it. I don’t want to know if you catch it on fire, tear a sleeve off, shred it on a fencepost or otherwise damage it."

I shivered at the thought.

I asked him to tell me the story again, and I listened during the re-telling. Well, I listened during most of the re-telling. I sometimes got lost thinking about getting to wear the sweater, and daydreaming about how cool it'd look with my flattop and fenders, and trying to decide which of my vintage shirts would look best with it.

Poppo spent the rest of the evening telling me tales about his youth, and I learned a lot about him. I felt closer to him than I ever had.

I didn’t realize how late it was until Mom called. "Where are you, and are you coming home tonight?"

"Um, sorry, Mom. I’m at Poppo’s and we got to talking. I’ll be right there."

I hugged Poppo again before I left, thanking him. "I don’t think anyone’s ever gave me something I was more excited about. Thank you, Poppo. I’ll cherish it forever, and give it to one of my kids when they’re old enough to appreciate what it is."

He grimaced. "If there’s anything left of the sweater by then."

"I promise I won’t let anything happen to it. I won’t be able to look kickass if I tear it."

Poppo had a smile on his face when I left.

I walked in the door at home and wanted to squirm when Mom squealed, "Don't you just look adorable."

I asked Dad what he thought about my haircut. "Well, it doesn’t look too bad, but I’ll be glad when this play is over, and you start acting normal again. I’m getting a little overwhelmed with all this Fifties stuff."

He looked stunned when I said, "You’d better get used to it Dad. I think it’s my forever haircut, and I’m going to get a picture of us together on my thirtieth birthday."

"Huh?"

I explained how I wanted a picture of Poppo, Gramps, Dad and me, all wearing our high school haircuts. Then I thought, "Hey, we could hold our graduation picture when they take the picture."

His comment was, "I’ll be damned. I’ve never thought about that. Am I really dating myself with my haircut?"

I could only laugh at him. I finally said, "Yes, sir, but it could’ve been worse. I thank Zeus and all the gods that you decided to cut your mullet right before your senior year. I don’t think I could’ve lived with you if I’d had to look at a mullet every day!"

That night I was admiring myself in the mirror when a thought hit me. "I wonder if I could talk Gramps into getting a matching haircut?"

I mused, "If anyone could, it would be me…" I really started thinking about it. "It would be really kickass if I could talk Gramps and Dad into getting a flattop boogie. That would be one of the most original pictures in the history of picture taking. I doubt if three generations have ever worn this hairstyle."

I got lost in thought. "I don’t know if I want to give up the idea of a picture of us with the generational haircuts. That would be a kickass picture too."

An idea hit me. "IF I could talk Dad and Gramps into doing it now, we could get a picture with four generations in flattops. Poppo would love that."

I started thinking of arguments I could use. "For Dad, I’m going to have to sell Mom on the idea. She can get Dad to do it." I thought about it some more. "I’ll tell Gramps and Dad they could let their hair grow back, that this would be something special we could do for Poppo as a family." I grinned. "If they let their hair grow back, I could still do the picture I have always dreamed of."

I giggled. "Poppo would have a fit if he knew I was thinking about Dad and Gramps letting their hair grow out again". I imagined what he’d say, and I could hear the growl he would have in his voice. "Boy, if you manage to pull this off, I’ll haunt their sorry asses until the day they die if they let their hair grow back!"

The more I thought about a new look for my father and grandfather, the more I liked it. I thought, "Chad, go see Gramps in the morning, and start working on him."

I set my alarm for early.

I chuckled just before I went to sleep, because I had thought, "Chad, you’d better be careful. Poppo is going to be working as hard on you as you’re going to be working on Dad and Gramps. If you’re not careful, he’ll have you back at Vern’s, and you’ll walk out with a full flattop."

I shook my head. "Sorry, Poppo. That ain’t gonna happen. I like my flattop with fenders."

Miss Parker wasn’t thrilled when I walked into our dress rehearsal. She gave me the tongue-lashing to end all tongue-lashings, and then started explaining how any major decisions like a haircut should’ve been run by her.

I stretched the truth, and said that I had told Vern I wanted to look like a greaser (which was true) and that the barber had decided the flattop with fenders was a good idea. She wasn’t very impressed. I was relieved that there wasn’t much she could do.

I pulled my comb out of my pocket like I had practiced so many times in front of the mirror. "Look. I can still comb my hair like we’ve rehearsed." She reluctantly agreed it would work, but continued to tell me how wrong I had been.

I proved I was right when I went onstage the next night. The audience loved it, and several people told me after the show how much they adored my haircut. It was even mentioned in the newspaper review the next morning. This is what was said.

Community Theatre Production of "Grease" Is a Smashing Hit

Harlow Theatre opened a production of Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey's "Grease". The cast is led by Chad Williams as Danny Zuko and Elizabeth Davidson as Sandy Olsson.

Overall, the production is charming and fun. Williams is spectacular in his role as Danny. His sensual performance is mixed with a bumbling wit that brings a whole new depth to the character. His charismatic and alluring portrayal surpasses the popular movie by the same name. Williams shows a marked affinity for the era, and his every move captured the spirit of the time perfectly.

Williams' choice of a flattop with fenders (aka "flattop boogie") is as refreshingly different from the tired standard "greaser" look as his portrayal of the character is different. His performance makes it worth attending the show.
*****
Author’s note: I’m going through some old stories I started at some point, and never finished. I found this one. I started it at the beginning of the quarantine, and deserted it, because it wasn’t going like I wanted it to. I was finally able to finish it.

As usual, all comments are welcome.

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