Maturing fast - part 4 - Three years on by DaveB

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Three years on and life takes you in new directions...



It was hard to remember back to the time I was a long-haired layabout.

The first few weeks after my transformation had been really tough - not being free to make my own choices was alien to me, as was not just following the crowd. But over time I started to realise that it just wasn't worth to spend my time worrying about it or fighting against it - and actually my parents might be right that the changes that were being made - and that I was more and more often making for myself - were helping to make me better, and secure my future.

It became habit to sort my hair, and shine my shoes - and just generally take care about my appearance. But it wasn't about trying to keep up with particular fashions or be part of a gang, it was presenting myself in the correct manner - looking professional.

My style remained what I guess you could call conservative and traditional. I moved from hating it to respecting it. My hair remained in the same short parting as the very first haircut I'd got nearly 3 years ago - after my one military haircut, I was allowed to grow back my little quiff, but I chose to keep a relatively short taper - not skin short, but tapering down to a number 2, and freshened up every 3 weeks.

I kept up the dress too - I appreciated looking smart, and also I didn't have to overly think about it - it was just a matter of whether I was in my black school unform, on the muted tones of my weekend wear. It was now part of what defined me as a person - looking and acting respectably.

At school, my old mates had quickly drifted away, and I realised they clearly weren't proper friends or they would have stuck with me, but really they were just drifting. I made new friends who were just better people, and more focused on their future, and putting the work in. My grades improved.

As a result, I actually did A-Levels, and found that I was actually good at maths, so upon finishing school I got a job at a local accountancy firm. I dressed smarter than most of the staff who worked there - most of them just wore trousers and a shirt, where as I always wore a traditional suit and tie, slicked down my hair and polished my shoes. It just felt the right thing to do. The owner of the company was the only other one who wore a suit - he said I'd go far. I hoped I would. He said I was an 'old soul' - I think I took that as a compliment too. I also grew a moustache too - a full one that covered the whole of my top lip. It wasn't fashionable, but it definitely made me look more mature, which was a good thing, I thought.

The one thing that took me by surprise was my hair - or increasingly - the lack of it. As I brushed my hair across my head it became clearer that there was less hair and more scalped showing through. My barber had stopped thining out my hair on top, as it was no longer required. Any equally my once strong quiff had become a smaller, increasingly marooned, island of hair in the middle of my expanding forehead. 

This confused me, as my dad still had a full head of hair (and our chosen hairstyles remained similar), but then his dad was totally bald, so it was just one of those things I guess.

I hadn't had to make a real decision about my hair for years, as I'd either followed the trends of my mates, or - more latterly, had the same hairstyle as my dad had decided would be the case. But it was no longer an option that I could carry the same hairstyle as my dad. Yup, at the grand old age of 18, I was going seriously bald.

I spoke to my barber about it - he agreed that I couldn't continue with my current style. I said to him, my dad's style had defined my haircut to this point, so it only made sense that I take inspiration from my grandfather for the next stage of my life. I showed my barber a picture. "Just like that?" he asked. I nodded. 

Once I was caped up, he went down my hair and then brushed 'all' my hair down from the centre of my head. There were a few thin hairs on the top of my head but there was clearly a big oval of skin before the hair started growing. The barber got to work trimming all the hair down to about half an inch. He then tidied up around the edges leaving a full, blocked edge. 

He handed me my glasses. "So what are we doing about the top?" Shave it, I said. There was just this small patch of hair at the front and then just random wiry hairs scattered across my scalp. He fired up his clippers and cleared away the rubbish. Then shaving foam was applied liberally over my scalp and a straight razor made the area smooth. After shave was then applied which stung like anything!

He then stepped to the side so I could see myself in the mirror. My forehead just went on forever! I definitely looked older. And it complimented my moustache perfectly. And I was pretty sure I liked it. The fact I still had a full ring of hair around the edges really highlighted the maturity - I wasn't trying to hide my baldness, I was celebrating it. It was manly. It felt right. I was glad that I wore glasses and a moustache though, as otherwise I think my face would look somewhat empty.

"I've one last tip" my barber said as he went and grabbed a bottle of baby oil and smeared it over my scalp. He then got a cloth and rubbed it vigorously. He took it away and my scalp shone like a beacon. I loved it. If I couldn't make my hair shine, then shining my scalp was a close second - in fact, it may even be better. While I was expecting to lament the loss of my hair I left feeling like a new man. Just one who was a bit older.


The End.

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