My parents. by Vykonavatel77

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My parents.
My name is Michael. I was born in 1961, and my father was 32 and my mother 21 when I was born. My father was older, strict and rather conservative. His hair was always short. Mother was quite different. She understood that boys at that time had long hair and she had a good influence on my father and always talked him out of it if he wanted to change something in my upbringing. Ever since I was a little boy, my mother used to take me to her hairdresser for a little haircut. My father didn't like it very much and when I had really long hair, he told my mother to take me to get a haircut. I had beautiful, black hair and I was very proud of it.
I was 13 years old and my father told my mother about 3 times to let me get a haircut. When he told her again to let me have my hair cut, my mother replied that she was busy now and didn't have time to go with me to her hairdresser. Then she angrily told him that he can come with me one day.
Saturday morning came and dad said he would take me to get my hair cut after breakfast. After half an hour, we already went together for my hair treatment. But father changed the route and we did not go to mother's hairdresser. I pointed out to him that it is not good to go to my mother's hairdresser, to which my father said that he will not enter a women's barber shop and that we are men, so we will go to a men's barber shop. I didn't know what kind of men's barbershop my father had in mind. Our path led to the outskirts of the city. From a distance, I saw the sign of a barbershop with the name: Wilson barbershop. I became insecure. My classmate David and his younger brother are here to get their hair cut by their father. They both have short hair. Dávid once said that barber Wilsom likes his hair to be on the ground and not on his head.
Not long after, we stopped by the Wilson barber shop. Father said that today we will go to this barber shop. Before we entered the barbershop, I managed to ask my father to give me a little haircut. To that, father just remarked that I shouldn't be afraid, that it would be a nice hairstyle.
After the greeting, the barber asked the father if he was going to get a haircut. After all, he was with him only a week ago. The father replied that he would not get a haircut today, but that he had come with his son Michael. I sat down on the waiting chair. My father asked the barber how long it would take to cut my hair. The barber looked at the waiting chairs and said, I will cut his hair in about an hour. Father, if I get a haircut sooner, I will wait for him in the barbershop.
Not far from me on the waiting chair sat a scary boy, he could have been 15 years old. His hair covered his ears, the back of his hair was up to his shirt collar, and his bangs were around his eyebrows. I suppose the barber doesn't just do short haircuts like David's. I started looking at the barbershop, it was really old-fashioned about one barber's chair. On the counter under the large mirror, the barber had various scissors and brushes and various bottles, tools for cutting. The barber was also very old, I assumed he was about 65 years old. The walls had a faint brown tinge from cigarette smoke. Many yellowed old pictures hung on the walls. The waiting chairs were wooden and painted black. There was a table with various newspapers and magazines for clients.
I looked at the waiting chairs. The older boy was no longer sitting there. When I looked at the barber, I saw a boy in the barber's chair. The barber had already finished his haircut and his hair was much shorter than it had been a moment ago.
The barber continued to cut other older clients. The barber called Michael, come sit here. I got up and slowly walked over to the barber. My legs were shaking. I sat down in the chair. The barber wrapped me in a large white sheet, which he fastened to the collar of his shirt. When the barber was combing my hair, he told me that he cut my father's hair for the first time when he was 5 years old. He cuts his whole life with short breaks. The barber lifted my beautiful long hair with a comb and cut it just above the comb. 15 cm long hair started to fall on the sheet, but there was still quite long hair left on the head. When the barber finished the first cut, he picked up the electric clippers. He bent my head forward, my chin was touching the sheet. I was scared when he put the electric clippers to my neck. When he turned them on, there was a loud shrill sound. My throat went dry and my stomach tightened. I felt the teeth of the clipper go up the back of my neck. About 7 centimeters of hair began to fall on the sheet. The barber continued to cut the hair on both sides of the head. My ears were no longer covered by any hair. When the barber turned off the scissors, he began to cut the hair on the top of his head. When he finished cutting them. The hair on the crown was about 4 centimeters long. Then he cut my bangs about 5 centimeters above my eyebrows. The barber took another pair of electric clippers, tilted my head to the side and began to trim the remaining short hair around my ears. He made a 3 centimeter arc around my ear and white skin appeared. He did the same on the other side of the head. Then he cut the hair from the neck to the nape of the neck. My hairstyle resembled the hairstyle that the older boy had. I heard the door to the barbershop open. At that, the barber said, come see if you'll be happy with Michael's haircut. Father stood aside from the barber's chair in which I was sitting, almost without hair. Father looked at my head and said: Cut his hair even more above the ears by about 3 centimeters and at the back by about 5 centimeters. Tears welled up in my eyes. The barber smiled and did what his father said. Before he freed me from the sheet he applied foam around my ears and the back of my head. He gradually scraped here. He wiped the rest of the foam with a towel and applied cream to the top of his head and combed his hair.
On the way home, my father took me to the photographer and took pictures of me with my new hairdo. He took photos of me not only in profile but also with his head turned. He paid the photographer extra and agreed with him that he would develop the photos within 12 o'clock and I could come and pick them up.
My mother was surprised by my new very short haircut, but she saw tears in my eyes, so she consoled me that it was very nice. In the mirror I saw a strange little boy who looked like he was only 10 years old.

Xxxxxxx
When I downloaded the photos, I quickly looked at them. I had big 6 inch white clean shaven arches above my ears and over 6 inches of white shaved head above my shirt collar.
After lunch, dad took the old album and started looking at the photos. After a while he called me and showed me a group photo from his 3rd class. All the children looked to the right. Father asked me to find him in the photo. I looked at the photo for a long time. Then dad pointed to a boy with a similar short haircut to mine. The next photo was of a 9-year-old boy. Here the boy was photographed alone and his head was turned. There was a very close resemblance to my photos. Both boys in the photos had black hair with a very short haircut, the same nose or mouth. Then my father chose another photo of a boy with the same short haircut but already older than me. On the other side was written 17 years old. They were photographs of my father and our likeness was unmistakable.

Xxxxxxx
On Monday at school, I experienced a great deal of unbearable ridicule even from boys who went to old-fashioned barbers and had short haircuts. I regretted that my mother didn't have time for my little hairdo at her hairdresser's.
David was right that Barber Wilson likes hair on the ground, not on the head, in boys. After my father asked the barber to cut my hair shorter, I had the shortest hair in my class.
After I got home from school, I told my mother that I never wanted to go to Wilson Barbershop again. The mother smiled and said, but now you are the same as your father was when he was a boy. You have a nice head and your ears are small so you look very nice with this hairstyle.
I never want to go to Wilson barber shop again, I told my father. He just laughed and said that I won't decide on that and he and his mother will decide how long hair and in which barbershop I will get it cut.

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