The Worm Turns by Deke Cutter

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This is my take on a sequel to the Haircut Story Classic "The Worm." It is pretty long and one of my typical wordy meandering tales.

The summer with my uncle, the Marine, had been brutal. The weekly high and tight haircuts, daily physical training, military-style rules in all parts of my life. I hated every day of it. Remember, this was happening in 1972. The summer between my junior and senior years of high school had been ruined. I had learned from the experience, perhaps not the lessons, my father and my uncle had planned for me to learn, but I had learned. The Marine had taught me to know my ‘enemy,’ to have a plan, to think critically, and to never give up. I would have my own back.

As the bus rolled up to the depot in my hometown, I looked out the window from my seat in the middle of the bus. I could see my father and my younger brother sitting in front of the depot. I smiled to myself. Time to begin the show. I looked down at my camo pants and spotless white tee shirt, I took my camo ball cap off the rack above my head and moved up the aisle toward the front door of the bus. As the driver followed me off the bus to retrieve my bag from the bay, I placed my cap on my freshly cropped hair, placed my metal framed sunglasses on and thanked the bus driver, shaking his hand with a firm grip. I turned and was pleased to see my father’s double take as he finally recognized me and gesticulated with one hand while speaking excitedly to my brother. I strode slowly toward them, showing no emotion. I put out my hand to my father and said, "Hello Dad, good to see you sir." I gave him the firm, nearly painful grip his brother had taught me. Then, I turned to my brother and said, "and look at this young man," remembering his delight when he heard that I was being sent to Uncle Frank’s ‘boot camp’ for the summer." I see you have let your standards slip a bit while I was away," while running my hand through his hair and thinking, to myself ("just wait until you see what I have in store for you.")

When we arrived at home, I greeted my mother with a hug and told her how pleased I was to see her. Then, I excused myself and went to my room where I proceeded to take down all the poster and boxed up all my adolescent ‘toys’ and took them to the attic. I alphabetized my records and 8-track tapes and was cleaning my closet when my dad came into the room. "What’s all this, son?"

"I’m just getting my space squared away, sir. I know you and my uncle don’t want my standards slipping now that I am home. I want to sort through these clothes and make sure I have the appropriate ones for the coming school year. We may need to get me a few more appropriate items before school starts next week, sir. If you wish, I will seek after-school employment to pay for the new clothes, though that will mean I won’t be joining a sports team as I had hoped to. Speaking of fitness, sir, my uncle and I used to start each day with a run and some calisthenics. I would be honored to have that time to spend with you each morning sir." I was almost ready to bust a gut from wanting to laugh by now because my father was freaking out. I figured I’d stop and give him a chance to reply.

"Son, I must say, I hoped a summer with your uncle would get you back on the straight and narrow, perhaps put an end to our haircut arguments and get you ready for the rigors of college life. I think we can take care of your clothes. You go ahead and try out for whatever sport you want."

"Thank you, sir. I’ll take it as an affirmative on the PT, then, as well. Shall we say 0600? Now, if you will excuse me, I want to get this done and get a run in before dinner, unless there are some chores that need done." As my father left the room, I looked at the back of his head and realized that while Dad had kept himself and his two sons in short, tapered cuts when we were very young, he had gradually loosened up over the years and our hair, was much more of a regular haircut of the day. Dad’s hair was quite full in the back and sides, not covering his ears or collar and still having a slight taper. My brother’s hair too, while just a tad fuller than Dad’s touched the top of his ears and nearly reached his collar. He kept it combed off his forehead, a trick, I had taught him, but I knew those bangs would be down in his eyes if he combed them forward. This is when what had been just the germ of a revenge fantasy came into full bloom for me. At first, it was just going to be driving the parents crazy with my "new attitude," but now I was going step it up and get back at that little rat of a brother who went out of his way to make comments about my hair and my friends and laughed at me for the week before I was sent away.

My father thought he was going to collapse the first morning of our PT sessions. I made him suffer as much as his brother had made me suffer during those early days. I took secret delight in seeing his medium length businessman’s haircut plastered against his head with sweat. As the week progressed, I let in my circle of friends who were shocked to see the external transformation of me, in on what I was doing and swore them to secrecy. I also scouted the town trying to find an old-fashioned barbershop for the next step in my plan. Finally, I found just the place. It was over in the industrial part of town; it was a two-chair shop. "We specialize in military cuts" said the sign in the window. The iconic "Beautify America-Get a Haircut" poster was taped to the door. I noticed that both barbers were unoccupied, so I opened the door and went in. "Excuse me gentlemen, I think I have found my new barbershop, but I wanted to speak with both of you before I come in on Saturday."

"Well, young fellow, we would certainly like a clean-cut customer like you."

"I’ve spent the summer with my uncle who is in the U.S. Marines, and he has converted me to a fan of this fine haircut and as you know, a regulation Marine high and tight needs weekly maintenance. I will be bringing my dad, and, hopefully, my younger brother with me this Saturday to start them on their journeys toward neater shorter haircuts, with your help." I would like to see my dad leave with a regulation cut, you know, nice and tight on the sides, but enough to comb on top. For my brother, a typical boys cut."

"What do you think, Harry" said the other barber, whose shirt bore the name Mike over the breast pocket.

"I think that sounds like a nice half hour’s work for us."

"Thank you both," I said and made sure I shook their hands. "I’ll see you Saturday."

On Thursday evening after dinner, I asked my father if he was free on Saturday. I told him I wanted to share an important part of what I learned this summer with him and my brother. "What about your mother?"

"Now sir, don’t tell me you have gone all ‘women’s lib’ on me, have you? I don’t think this is something that is appropriate for Mom. Maybe later, I will speak to her about it." That did the trick. So, Saturday morning, after Dad and I completed our physical training, we got my brother out of bed and dressed and I got them both into the car and asked Dad if I could drive. A few minutes later, we arrived. "Dad, this is a shop that can keep me looking squared away and I would like you two to come in and check it out, sir. My experience this summer with Uncle Franks barber sure helped turn me around."

I knew I had my father hooked, but my brother was not happy about getting anywhere near the shop. Dad was not letting him sit in the car in a strange part of town. "Gentlemen, welcome, said Mike."

"Mike and Harry, let me introduce my father Thomas Meyers, Senior and my brother Billy Meyers.

Well young Tom, I know you are here for your high ‘n tight. Sir, we can give you a nice trim, if you’ll take the second chair." My father looked like he was going to balk. The barber continued, "it is refreshing to see a dad come in with a well-groomed son, who is willing to maintain a clean-cut style in this day and age." (Ha! Got you Dad!) So, my father, with a resigned look on his face, sat down in the chair.

"As you can see, I keep my hair in an appropriate businessman’s cut," he said to Harry, the barber who had him caped and ready to go. Harry slowly turned the chair away from the mirrors.

"Yet your son’s hair is more of a military style." Harry said this as he gently pushed Dad’s head forward and without letting him feel the pressure, started replacing that businessman’s haircut with a much tighter regulation taper up the back of his head. Meanwhile, Mike was making quick progress on my high and tight. By the time he had completed the clipper work on the back and sides of my head. Harry had the sides and back of my father’s head down to about a half inch length.

"You seem to be cutting more off than I am used to."

"I wouldn’t worry about it sir."

Harry then sprayed the top of his hair and aggressively went to work cutting the length down from the usual several inches on top to barely an inch at the back lengthening another inch at the front. He then switched to his thinning shears and comb and went to town on the remaining hair. Finally, he switched back to the shears and cut the bangs at an angle. Next, he used a series of smaller blades on the clippers and went to work aggressively tapering the sides down until he looked like he had just stepped off the local army base.

By this point, my cut was done, and I had wrangled my younger brother into Mike’s chair. Promising him in a whispered tone that his hair would not be cut as short as Dad’s or mine, if he behaved. I gave him the thin lipped, squint-eyed looks I had practiced from watching my uncle that I knew scared him into compliance. He got into the chair. Mike caped him up and turned him away from the mirror. I stood next to him, as my uncle had stood next to me at that first haircut and Mike went to work. During my haircut, I had suggested to Mike that he leave an inch or so below the part line and maybe two inches on top, but a good tight taper, arches around the ears and a bit of thinning out. I knew exactly how the kid felt when those clippers hit his neck for the first time, but I also remembered his smug look when he heard I was being sent to my uncle’s.

"O.K. sir, I’ll just put a little Vitalis on this and comb it and you’ll be good to go," said Harry to my father. He worked the liquid with it’s distinctive ‘bouquet’ into the short, thinned stalks left on my dad’s head, combed a razor straight part into his left side and created the smallest of quiffs up front. Then he turned him to face the mirror. "Now you’re looking like a real gentleman, sir."

"OUTSTANDING," I called loudly. "This will be a lot easier for you during our morning P.T., sir." He got out of the chair, taking the tissue Harry handed him and looked, almost shyly, at his reflection in the mirror.

"Wow, it’s short." He said.

"Uncle Frank will be proud, sir." I turned back to my brother and was very pleased to see the progress being made on his haircut. His overgrown mop was now being shorn back to a much shorter boy’s haircut. Mike had done a great job on the arches and the taper. His hair no longer flopped on his forehead, as it had when Mike first combed it forward. Instead, he looked like a 1950’s kid and he smelled like Dad with the addition of the Vitalis. "Now that is a fine haircut for a young man." I said, as Mike turned my brother toward the mirror. I gave him "the stare" again to warn him against any histrionics.

When my father paid for the three haircuts and saw that they were the price of one at his regular barber, even with a nice tip, I spoke up and said. "Yes sir, that will make it better since you and I will be coming back every two weeks to keep your cut looking sharp. The little guy can probably go for a month." My father looked stunned, but my plan was to keep him under my thumb. Then as we were walking to the car, I took his hand and ran it up the back of his head and mine. "Doesn’t that feel great? Nice and clean."

The ride home was quiet. When we arrived at home, my mother was finishing the preparation for a Sunday roast. She put it into the refrigerator and turned and looked shocked as she saw my dad and brother. "Mom, I hope you like Dad and Billy’s haircuts. Now that Uncle Frank has worked his special magic on me, I wanted to give Dad and Billy the same opportunity that you and Dad gave me to learn the importance of regular trips to a no-nonsense barber shop that gives a good tight cut at a reasonable price. Dad and I are really bonding with our morning physical training. Have you seen how great he’s looking? His clothes are getting so loose, he and I are going to have to go shopping to get him some new better fitting clothes. I know how busy you are looking after the house and the three of us so once I get done helping Billy straighten his room and get it squared away, perhaps Dad and I can get going on those clothes." My mother’s mouth hung open like she was too stunned to speak, so I took my brother by the shoulders and ushered him upstairs to his room. "O.K., you little snot, you thought it was pretty funny when they sent me down to Uncle Frank’s boot camp for the summer. Well, today’s haircut was just the start for you. If you say a word to Mom or Dad, you will live to regret it, trust me. You get all that s**t off your walls. From now on, you will only have 2 medium sized patriotic themed posters on this wall," I pointed to the wall above his bed that had some teen girl singer and some science fiction stuff. "While you are doing that, I will start sorting through your clothes and taking away the unacceptable stuff." I left him with two pairs of dress pants, a pair of khakis and some plain collared shirts. All his colored tee shirts with logos, I took out. I told him he would be learning how to polish his dress shoes military style and would be wearing them to school. Finally, I told him to square away his desk and that I would be inspecting his room in the morning and his bed better be made. I took his favorite clothes away with me.

"Ready to go sir," I asked my father. My father didn’t answer immediately. So, I said to him, in the best voice I could manage that maintained a sense of command, yet respect for a superior, "is there a problem, sir? I thought we agreed on this. You’ve lost weight and become fitter, your old clothes don’t fit you correctly and certainly don’t reflect the kind of person you should be presenting as a role model, especially to young Bill who is at an impressionable age. I am going to call him Bill, rather than Billy. I believe it is time for him to start being treated more maturely."
"Well son, your mother was quite surprised by my and Billy, um Bill’s haircuts and felt that she should have been consulted."

"Oh gosh sir," I got in there before he went further, "I hope she understood that I naturally assumed that with all the concern my long hair caused last year, you and she would be proud of my initiative in finding a new barber who would allow me to keep up the standards Uncle Frank spent so much effort drilling me on and I assumed that you would appreciate the chance to smarten up too." This issue of male hair really is something for the men in the house, and Mom certainly must have agreed that Uncle Franks boot camp approach was right for me."

From the look on his face, I knew I’d got him again. "Oh no son, we are very pleased with your progress, and I think Mom was just surprised. We both are looking forward to you continuing your new take charge attitude and maintaining discipline at home and at school. So, let’s get to the stores before they close."

If you remember those early 1970s men’s fashions, I had taken careful consideration of where we would go and what we would be shopping for. We came home with dark blue, charcoal grey and lighter grey suits, shirts that were cut to show his more fit physique but not overly tapered. I insisted on short-sleeved white shirts for summer and long sleeves for winter wear and very somber ties, the skinniest ones I could find, often hidden in the back of the racks. His new wardrobe had him looking like a 1950s TV dad and his new haircut with those clothes made him stand out as much as his forced makeover of me did for me.

The next two weeks were spent providing re-enforcement to my father and my brother. My father admitted to me how much better the shorter hair felt during our morning P.T. sessions, and I was all over Bill, as my father and I called my brother, making sure he had applied Vitalis to his hair, made his bed, and shined his shoes before school. Any slip ups were dealt with by me requiring him to "drop and give an appropriate number of push-ups or sit-ups.

Dad and I had our next haircut and it happened without incident. While we were driving over, I asked him how his new look had gone over at work. He replied, "to my surprise, after the initial round of ‘did you get runover by a lawnmower’ and ‘did you join up’ jokes, the reactions had been positive. In fact, some of the younger long-haired guys said, "if it feels good, do it." It’s all we ever asked of our folks, when we grew our hair long."

"Fine for some," I said. "We, however, are firmly in the short hair camp with Uncle Frank. You know sir, I just want to say how proud I am of you. You are not being part of the crowd, you taking your fitness seriously, and you are making such a great role model for Bill. We need to keep him from going down the path that I went down."

"What makes you think that son?"

"Sir, he has been showing rebellious tendencies. I have caught him trying to leave the bathroom in the mornings without seeing that his hair is properly groomed. I’m still having to tighten up his bed after he makes it most mornings. Uncle Frank would have had me running an extra mile for each infraction, Sir. I don’t like to be a snitch sir, but I have taken the cross-country team on some runs past Bill’s school in the afternoons and I have seen him with his shirt tails hanging out of his trousers and his hair wildly displaced. If I may say so, sir, it may be time to ‘tighten things up a bit.’ I have a few ideas," What I didn’t tell my father was that all the boys wore their shirts this way when they went out during lunch or if they had a free period. His hair was often disarranged by classmates who still found his new short haircut quite hilarious after all his joking about his brother being sent off to live with his uncle and coming back looking like a dork.

So, when two more weeks had passed, I reminded my father that Bill should be coming with us and perhaps he could benefit from a shorter haircut this time. I also suggested that Dad give him a warning that boys whose shirttails did not stay tucked in could have some pretty lace sewn on to those shirttails. I had also taken the liberty to suggest to the barbers to subtly start cutting my father’s hair slightly shorter and slightly tighter every month so that he would be ready for my big Christmas surprise. We three arrived bright and early at the barber shop on Saturday morning, my brother with a face like thunder after my father had taken him aside and warned him about his shirttails, making his bed properly and keeping his hair neat. As my hair was the shortest and easiest to cut, I deferred to Dad and Bill so that I could fully enjoy the spectacle.

As my father directed Bill into Mike’s chair, he called Mike aside and told him he wanted the top cut shorter on Bill and the sides closer. "He is having trouble keeping it neat. Perhaps more like mine, but a bit shorter up front."

Then he sat in Harry’s chair. Harry caped him up and went right to work, no questions, no discussion of how he was cutting Dad’s hair. I noticed that the sides were showing skin just a tiny bit higher than last time and Harry was being very careful on the top, using the thining shears sparingly, since the hair had not thickened too much and just snipping maybe an extra eighth of an inch off the back and just a bit more in the front. He blew all the loose hairs away and cleaned up the edges with the single edge blade. Then, instead of reaching for that yellow liquid, he went for the butch wax. "You know Tom, I think we might try this. He rubbed some in his hands to warm it up then pushed it gently into the hair in front and rubbed it across the top. Then he brushed up the small quiff and ran the brush across the top. The hair on the part was almost down to stubble and my father’s look was no in no way civilian now.

Mike had taken his instructions from my father and ran with them. Bill’s sides were basically stripped down to a soft fuzzy taper. It had never been this short. The several inches of his ‘boy’s regular’ cut lay on the floor and he now had what could generously be called a laydown crewcut, also finished with a nice application of butch wax. I had to admit, this pleased me. As soon as he was released, Mike got to work on me, taking me down to my ridiculous looking high and tight. The kids at school basically accepted that this was some weird thing I was doing, and I was even getting some decent looking girls to go out with me. Some of their dads, of course, loved it, some of their parents wanted to make sure I wasn’t some kind of weird psycho, but that’s a whole other story.

The funny thing about the haircuts was that my dad had no idea how ridiculous he looked to most of the town. He was an engineer, and what today they would call a fairly introverted personality. He was happy as a middle manager. If he was getting good direction, he would follow it and direct the staff below him. I also knew that he was good at his job and looking like an eccentric throwback wouldn’t really hurt him at work. No, he and Uncle Frank had hurt me, and I was teaching a lesson. My brother had turned on me, and so he was paying too.

Speaking of that little Judas, when we were driving home from his scalping, I had made sure I complimented Dad on his haircut and praised, again our barbers. I told Dad he was in the best shape I had ever seen and that he was my inspiration on leading our track team toward first place in the State for the Fall season. "Now that the Fall season is ending, sir, perhaps we can begin a training program for Bill." My father allowed as how that sounded like a great idea and noted that the YMCA/YMHA had a great indoor track if the weather became too inclement. My brother sat seething in the back seat.

My mother was not home when we got back. She had gone with a group of friends to see the famous advice columnist "Dear Ann Landers" who was speaking at the synagogue in town. We are Methodists, but our neighbors, Jerry and Lilly belong to B’nai Shalom and Lilly is President of their women’s group. It’s called the Hadassah, I think. Mom and Lilly are like their own little ecumenical council. Anyway, it’s a good thing she was out. Jerry came over as we were going in the back door and Dad stopped to talk to him. So, the kid and I went in. He turned around and looked daggers at me. I couldn’t resist and said, "that is one sweet crewcut Mike set you up with young William. It may well be a keeper."

He went wild. "Scr*w you, Thomas." Just because Dad and Mom got sick of your sh*t and got rid of you for the three happiest months of my life shouldn’t mean that you can ruin mine. He started beating on me as I stood there with my hands at my sides, as my dad and Jerry came into the house.

"William Francis stop hitting your brother at once. Thomas are you O.K."

"Yes sir. I am sorry. I thought I was complimenting Bill on his haircut. I know how hard it is when you feel you’ve been forced into changing your haircut and I wanted him to know that his new cut really looked good on him. But I really do understand. I think he will come around, just as you and I have."

Jerry looked at me and said, "what a mitsvah your wisdom is for your family, and this is a time for family, Tom, we can finish our discussion at a later time."

Dad sent Bill to his room ‘to cool down and think about what he did.’ I went into the kitchen and made my dad and me coffee. "Sir, it is probably good that he got that aggression out. When I got down to Uncle Frank’s, he immediately took me to the barber who cut off all my hair and then he laid down the law for me. He started my physical training the next day and he never let up on me. There was never anybody around for me to lash out at. I had to learn to accept the changes that he required. I was hoping that as Bill wasn’t too far gone, when he saw you modelling the behavior that you wanted from your sons, and more gradually applied it to him, it might be better and easier than the shock treatment. I guess that we will just need to work more with him. Look at you sir. You are the fittest man in this neighborhood and the most squared away." I asked him to stand next to me and look in the mirror above the fireplace. As he did, I took his hand and ran it up the back of his head and then up and over mine. "Isn’t that a great feeling Dad," I said, making my eyes glisten, as I had practiced. "A year ago, you would have mussed up your hair and got your hand tangled up in mine and neither of us could have walked let alone run five miles. We can’t stop now, sir."

My father put his arm around me and said, "you are right my son."

"Sir, this may sound like a crazy idea, but why don’t we invite Uncle Frank up for Christmas and if Bill is fit enough, we can all run as a family in the 5K Jingle Bell Run. It benefits disabled and homeless Viet Nam Veterans. I heard Mom and Lilly talking about it. Apparently, all the women’s groups from all the churches, both synagogues, even the Quakers are going cook Christmas dinner for the veterans and the participants on December 24th. Then the race is on Christmas Day. My father then called my brother downstairs and, because I had been carefully programming him to respond to my positive reinforcement, and to see things through the lens I was providing him, he took a firm but kind approach with my brother, allowing no chance for him to shift the blame.

"Now Bill, I know the changes that we have made in your life in the last few months have been difficult for you. And I want you to know that Mom and I understand that. These are done to ensure your future. Just as we did when we sent your brother down to spend the summer with Uncle Frank. Isn’t that right, Thomas?"
"Yes sir."

"Thomas suggested to me that had I tried this approach with him, we might have avoided the need for the more radical intervention. These changes are not going to be reversed, is that understood?

"But Dad!"

"The correct response is yes sir. I think you will find that calling me sir, as Thomas does, may make it easier to accept the control that I find necessary to put on your activities. So, is that understand?"

"Yes sir," Bill replied with resignation.

"Good, now, I want no more acting out. By the way, your brother was correct, that crew cut suits you well. Don’t expect your hair to grow any longer. I think you will be joining your brother and me for our bi-weekly haircuts and you will be beginning morning physical training with us so that you will be ready for the "Jingle Bells 5K run. Now, you are excused."

My father invited my Uncle Frank and Aunt Mary to come for Christmas and they readily agreed, with their sons both serving Marines overseas they were happy to be with family. Uncle Frank was thrilled about the 5K and Aunt Mary was willing to help out either with the charity dinner or "keeping the home fires burning’, as she put it. Keeping up my pretext as the changed teen, I had been sending Uncle Frank letters about my progress, my improved grades, my track team success, my PT program with Dad, maintaining my high and tight haircut, and how my father had started cutting his hair shorter and dressing in a more squared away fashion. I even mentioned that Dad and Mom were trying to prevent Bill from making the same mistakes I had made.

So, as October moved into November and November into December, Bill slowly, and still morosely fell into line. Once my father’s hair had reached the same crew cut length as Bill’s, without his uttering a complaint, due to my regular compliments and insistence that he was really walking the walk, I had the barbers just maintain it. Somewhere along the line, the short tabs that had replaced his slightly longer sideburns, at the beginning of this adventure, had all but disappeared too. Soon, the weeks were drawing nearer to Christmas. Dad and I were really bearing down on Bill on the physical training. It was one area that he seemed to be accepting because he was seeing results. He had lost his baby fat. His muscles were developing, and he was starting to look athletic, and the short haircut much better suited him, though I knew how much he still disliked feeling out of step with his peers. I had overcome it because I had a reason for maintaining mine and was not being forced.

Uncle Frank and Aunt Mary arrived on Thursday evening, December 22nd. He must have used the word "outstanding" ten times when he ‘inspected’ our haircuts, how fit we were, how neat and squared away Bill and my rooms were, my track records, my grades, Mom’s cooking. It was ‘an outstanding’ evening. Before turning in, I reminded Dad, as he and Uncle Frank shared a neat whisky before turning in that after our PT, Mike had recommended we bring our haircuts ahead a day to avoid the Christmas eve rush. As I anticipated, Uncle Frank wanted to join us for both the PT and our trip to the barber. "I want to meet these civilians who know how to use a pair of Osters."

So, the four of us were out early and we completed our calisthenics and our run, showered and headed to the barbers. Uncle Frank had obviously been razor shaved on the sides and back earlier on Thursday and his sides still shined. As he shook hands with Mike and Harry, he told them, "Haircuts for these three are on me today and I want all three of them coming out with haircuts looking just like mine. We are going to look like a Marine family when we run that race. I knew thar worm that I had planted in Dad’s head was now working away and even he wouldn’t contradict his brother. Tom why don’t you and Bill go first, since neither of you seem to have had the gumption to go all the way yet. And Dad, almost like a raw recruit got into the chair, with Bill trailing behind him. Harry and Mike were in their glory. Soon both their heads were buzzed down to ¼ inch all over. Then the process of tightening their sides and back. For me, this was a sight to behold, the bare blades of the clippers, the clipper and comb blending in the top and sides, the shaving cream, the razor. Uncle Frank standing between the two inspecting them and declaring the cuts acceptable. It made my own cut truly anticlimactic. Over the months we had been coming here for haircuts, I had learned that Mike was a pretty good photographer and I had asked him if he could take some pictures of us today. He agreed. I was so used to the way that Uncle Frank and I looked with high and tights, that it didn’t faze me anymore, unless I saw myself in a group picture with a bunch of "normal’ high school kids with bell bottoms, flowered shirts on the guys, long hair on everybody-you know ‘normal’ early 1970s.

Everybody at my high school pretty much knew my story of being shipped down to my Marine uncle’s for the summer. Except for my best friends, nobody really "got" the whole story on why I had changed so much, but had I simply come home and adopted a moderate haircut and reigned in my clothing choices, I would probably have just slipped along through my senior year. I knew it would have been a year of either doing it their way or more arguments, sneaking around and getting high with my friends, and probably just barely getting into a college. My "little ruse" had two parts, the revenge aspect, and, frankly, the self-improvement aspect. I raised my grades, did unexpectedly well on the track team and my coach was suggesting the chance at some scholarship money. I knew what college track stars looked like, and they didn’t look like me. If I could get far enough away from home, I could have time to grow my hair without having to come home, maybe for the whole school year.

Dad, with his crewcut, just looked like that guy in every community who refused to give in to change. Because he was so fit, now, and he kept his hair well groomed, people just figured he was an eccentric and that he forced us to follow his dictates. So, adults either felt sorry for me and Bill or praised Mom and Dad for ‘holding the line.’ The high and tight made both Dad and Bill look ridiculous. Yes, Dad could now pass for a Marine officer, but he was a mid-career private sector, mid-level engineer. Bill was a 7th grader who was the only kid in his school who now looked like he had just transferred from some kind of military school. But, a week with Uncle Frank in the house ought to get the worm spiraling deep into his head and messing with him the way it had messed with me during that long hot summer. I was really excited to see what kind of reactions we might get from people in the town and along the race route. Of course, the other three didn’t know that I had a little surprise planned for race day. They would see that on Christmas at the starting line.

Uncle Frank was almost giddy as we left the barber shop. Mike had taken pictures of each of us alone, My father with each son, my father with both of us, Bill and I together, Dad and Uncle Frank together, and all four of us together. Then Uncle Frank insisted that we stop in town for breakfast so that everyone could see what an outstanding family he had. He chose the Main Street Diner, the most popular place in town. There were plenty of people we all knew there, and I knew Bill was dying a little bit inside as he moved to the farthest seat in the back of the booth. Several people from our church and Dad’s office waved and I could see others looking at us and smiling or covering their faces and laughing. Our waitress told us that the diner offered a discount for serving members of the military which was all Uncle Frank needed to hear. He proclaimed loudly, "that’s very kind of your boss young lady, but I am the only proud U.S. Marine here. My brother and his two sons just know that the high and tight haircut is the only haircut a real man should have. Isn’t that right Tom, he asked my dad, who smiled weakly and nodded affirmatively. I was sitting next to Uncle Frank and Dad was sitting next to Bill. While Dad looked rather embarrassed by all the attention we were getting, I also noticed that both he and Uncle Frank were rubbing their hands up the back of our heads from time to time and that Dad had started to mimic Uncle Frank’s and my habit of rubbing our hands across the top of our own heads when we were talking or thinking.

As we were leaving the diner one of my friends came over to me and asked if I could come over to say hello to his parents. I told my dad I would only be a minute. "Merry Christmas Mr. and Mrs. Messina. It is nice to see."

"It’s nice to see you too Tommy. Merry Christmas to you and your family", said Johnny’s mom.

Mr. Messina, Johnny’s dad, got right to the point. "So, what’s with the G.I. haircuts Tom? Last year Johnny’s hair was shorter than yours and now all the men in your house are scalped?"

"Now Angelo," Mrs. Messina said, "Fatti ti gazzi due." (That was one of Johnny’s favorite Italian expressions and I knew it meant mind your own business.)

"It’s alright Mrs. M., you probably know, my parents thought I was getting out of control last summer and they sent me down to stay with my uncle the Marine. He made me get this high and tight haircut and got me into fitness. When I got home, I kept my hair short because I didn’t want to deal with the hassles with Dad again this year. I took my dad and my brother one time to show them the only barber I could find to give me short military haircuts and my dad decided they would get their haircuts there too since it was a lot cheaper than Dad’s regular place. The barber assumed that my dad would want a shorter haircut and my barber just gave Bill what he considered a standard boy’s haircut, quite a bit shorter than Bill was used to, I can tell you. Dad liked it because he thought he could start getting Bill in the short hair habit early and he liked having his hair short since Dad and I were running every morning and he had been complaining about what a mess his hair was when he sweated during our morning P.T. sessions. Then my uncle came for Christmas and decided we should all have the same haircuts for when we run the 5K race tomorrow. I know we all look goofy with these haircuts, and I feel bad for my brother because he doesn’t have the self-confidence yet to be looking so different. I don’t think Dad realizes how odd he looks now either. People at his office got used to the crewcut that he’d settled into, but this is a whole new level. One thing that I’ve learned from being scalped (I looked at Mr. Messina and smiled) is that I get attention and some strange looks and remarks wherever I go. Well, I better get moving or they may shave me completely bald, for keeping them waiting, just joking, I think."

"Goodbye dear," said Mrs. Messina, we’ll probably see you this weekend. The Rosary Altar Society from Saint Theresa’s will be working with the rest of the ladies. I’m so glad you mom and Lilly are running things."

"And Johnny and I will be helping with the setup for the dinner and signing the runners in at the race and we’ll be there at the end too. And, if Johnny gets up late or spends too much time messing with his hairdo tomorrow morning, I may be taking him to that new barber of yours, Mr. Messina said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.

Johnny rolled his eyes and said, "Daad."

I gave a laugh and a wave and headed out the door and ran to the car. I made a big deal of apologizing to my dad. "Sorry sir, I didn’t want to appear impolite to the Messinas, especially since they indicated that they would be working on the events this weekend. Uncle Frank, I apologize to you too, sir, for taking up some of your valuable vacation time. And I apologize to you too, Bill. I know you are anxious to get home."

"Why thank you son. You are really turning into a fine young gentleman. Isn’t he Frank?"

"Affirmative," replied my uncle. We’ve got these young men looking and acting like they have the right stuff."

"I owe it all to the training you gave me, Uncle Frank and all that Dad has done to reinforce it. I knew maintaining your standards would involve sacrifices when I came home, Uncle Frank, since this isn’t a military town like yours. But I decided that you and my folks deserved to see me do it and I would prove my discipline. I hear all the jokes, the whispers, the laughs. There are girls who won’t go out with me. People call me names. Dad’s change to short, cropped hair hasn’t gone without comment or notice either. Dad has held his head up and been a great role model for me and Bill. He could have just directed Bill to cut his hair shorter, but no, he just went ahead and got his cut and let people say what they wanted. And look at him and Bill now. What a sight! Nobody else in town looks like us!"

My mom was not well-pleased to see her two new "Marines" when the four of us arrived back at the house. Aunt Mary just shook her head and said, "this has Frank’s fingerprints all over it. I must say these four fellows look splendid. But their heads are going to freeze in that race tomorrow. Luckily, I have just the solution." She went to the guest room and came back with four of those knitted beanies that my mom always called toboggans. They were red and when you folded up the bottom big white letters appeared ‘USMC’, spaced around the hat. In much smaller print you could see that the whole thing spelled out United States Merry Christmas. "Boys, your grandmother knitted these for us when she thought we were being sent to Europe, but Uncle Frank got deployed to the Pentagon, so we never had the chance to use them."

I was the only one that thought this was hilarious and thought that we would get some great comments and reactions from the hats. Bill moped around the house, not wanting anybody he knew to see him. Lilly and Jerry came over. I was kind of relieved that Amy, their daughter who was a year behind me and her brother who was two years behind Bill weren’t with them. The Jewish kids at school all called Amy "the yenta" behind her back. My friend Jack Eisenberg explained that the term meant "the gossip" in Yiddish. I didn’t want Amy blabbing about Dad and Bill’s haircuts. I didn’t think Lilly and Jerry would, if I got to them first. Lilly, Mom and Aunt Mary sat down in the kitchen to talk about the big dinner. Jerry came into the living room where Dad, Uncle Frank, Bill and I were sitting. He looked at Dad and Bill and whispered "Gottenyu." (Dear God) and asked Dad if he could speak to him privately. They were in there for about 25 minutes. When they came out, my dad looked a bit shaken, but put a smile on his face and had his arm around Jerry’s shoulder and walked him into the kitchen. Jerry and Lilly left shortly afterwards.

Christmas Eve morning, we were all up early since Mom and Aunt Mary were up getting things together for the dinner. The four of us went out for a brief run to make sure our muscles were loose for the race. We all had ball caps on except Uncle Frank who, of course had a khaki-colored marine hat on. There weren’t too many people out, so we really didn’t get any looks or comments, but Dad was pretty quiet while Uncle Frank kept up a lot of chatter.

The lunch was a huge success with all the runners and the Viet Nam veterans there. Many of the veterans were wounded and I think what surprised (shocked) Uncle Frank were the ones who looked to him more like hippies. They had long hair and beards. Some had Viet Nam Veterans Against the War (VVAW) patches and peace signs on the clothes. I thought Uncle Frank was going to have a stroke, but then he saw their service insignias, purple hearts and other medals and commendations. Our four skinned heads stood out like sore thumbs. This was still a time where ‘gentlemen’ removed their hats inside, though. So, there was no chance of us covering up. My uncle, even though technically, ‘on leave’ (‘vacation’ for us civilians) felt he should sit and visit with the veterans. Dad, Bill and I were sitting at a table reserved for those participating in the race. A lady we didn’t know (her name tag said she was from the Greek Orthodox Church on the other side of town) came over and said to Dad and me, "excuse me gentleman, if you two would like to sit with the other Marine over with the veterans, that would be fine and, if this young fellow is your son, he can too."

Dad got a bit of a flushed expression, but immediately stood up and explained, "oh no, Mrs. Kafatos" (he said, reading her name tag, "that Marine officer over there is my brother and he sort of cajoled my younger son and I to get these haircut so that we would all have matching ones for the race. My older son, here, spent the summer with my brother and his wife and has kept the marine haircut since then. I’m just an engineer at a local plant. But thank you for the offer. Once we’ve finished eating, I think the boys and I will visit with the veterans, though. I’m Tom Meyers Senior and these are my sons, Tom Jr. and Bill." We each stood up and offered Mrs. Kafatos our hand as we had been taught.

"Oh, forgive my confusion. One just doesn’t see military length haircuts on civilians anymore. She looked at Bill and said, your brother must have some tips for you on how to stand up to any teasing you will face at school after the holidays. You are both very brave to be willing to not follow the crowd. My Stavros wore a flat top for years, but finally grew it out when it seemed that he was the only one left at his law firm who had any kind of short haircut. Well enjoy your meal." Bill looked like he wanted to say something, but he had learned his lesson and kept quiet. Dad looked troubled, but we ate our meal and then Dad suggested we go over and visit the vets.

Bill stayed close to Dad; I sort of wandered off on my own. "Hey jarhead wannabe," Nice haircut kid," "Your uncle said he made you get that haircut." I was sort of surprised to hear this from veterans. Finally, a young-looking guy in a wheelchair, who had one leg missing motioned to me to come over and sit down. His hair looked like it was a grown-out crewcut.

"Hey kid, I’m Spider. Don’t be embarrassed to look. I lost it in Que Son Province in November of 1970. These guys are giving you sh*t for three reasons. The gung-ho few still think only Marines should wear that haircut. The rest are probably remembering when they were excited about going to war and beating "the Commies." Some of them just remember how much it sucked to lose their long hair and can’t understand why any kid would do it if they weren’t in. "Look at all of us that have lost a limb, the blind ones, the ones who are messed up in their heads. Kid, why do you want to pretend to be one of us. Is it that Marine officer over there? He’s been walking around shaking hands and pointing over at you guys, but he hasn’t been over to me yet."

I explained about Uncle Frank and how he had made me get the haircut for the summer and how I had kept it to make a point with my dad and tricked him into getting a crewcut and making my bratty brother get one. Then I explained how Uncle Frank made them both get high and tights for the race. I also told him how much it sucked being the only one at school with no hair, but that the discipline Uncle Frank had drilled into me had helped me out, so it was sort of a deal with the devil, and it was almost worth it to teach my dad and brother a lesson.

I had him laughing by the time I finished telling him the story. "Kid, you would do well in the service because you have a devious mind, but now that the war’s winding down, do not join up. Grow your hair and go to college, enjoy your life, like you’re supposed to."

I think my dad must have heard plenty of tough stories about the war and took some abuse about his and Bill’s haircuts too. When we all were done and helped the ladies with the cleanup, he and Bill were pretty quiet. Even Uncle Frank was pretty subdued. As soon as we got home, he and Uncle Frank went into the study and talked for about an hour. Then he and mom said they had to run a quick errand. While Uncle Frank and Aunt Mary said they were going to lie down. Bill and I sat in front of the TV watching some old Christmas movie and actually not sniping at each other for the first time in months.

When mom and dad got home, they asked me and Bill into the study. Dad said, "Tom, Jerry came over yesterday and gave me a good talking to. He said that people were starting to wonder if I had a screw loose with the crewcut and you two boys having them. He said when he saw me with this cut, he felt he had to say something. Then today, I learned a good deal from talking to those young veterans. One thing that I heard loud and clear was that you and Bill must have been receiving a great deal of teasing and mocking for your haircuts this year. I still think you needed a wakeup call last spring, and your uncle did his best, but I think his methods were too harsh. Son, you learned his lessons too well, didn’t you? I want to thank you for getting me into shape, but now I realize that you tricked me into slowly getting a crewcut, the wardrobe changes and forcing Bill into short hair, so that we could have some idea of what you had gone through. I think we can both say we got the message. If we hadn’t got it fully, (he said rubbing his hand across his nearly bald head) we got it yesterday at the barber shop. So, I have a new rule in this house, you boys can grow your hair as long as you want it, down to your shoulders, just keep it neat and when its long enough, run comb or brush through it, please. Keep up your grades and keep out of trouble. I’ve already told Uncle Frank and he understands. He took some heat from the veterans too."

"Thanks Dad," I said. "It was a rough summer for me. The discipline has helped me buckle down at school and on the track team, but if I didn’t get through to you, I was hoping a scholarship would allow me to go away and not have to come home until I could grow my hair out and show you a year of good grades at college. And Bill, I’m sorry, but when you laughed at me for being sent away and for looking so weird when I came home, I had to give you a little taste too. So tomorrow, let’s run as a family and start growing our hair!"

And if you’re wondering, I had planned to wear a sweatshirt that my friends were going to give to that said, "We are the skin headed loser family, please laugh at us as we cross the finish line." I made sure that my friends left it at home. Guess what, the four of us crossed the finish line together with grandma’s red hats on.

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