Michael needs discipline. by vykonavatel77

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I am from the generation that grew up in the sixties and seventies. It was a time when boys liked to wear their hair long. The longer the boy's hair, the more modern he was.
My name is Michael. I grew up with my mother and my one year younger sister Elizabeth. Since we were little, we went by train 2 times a month to the village to visit our grandfather and grandmother. After arriving at my grandfather's house, I always went with him to his old-fashioned barber shop. I still had short hair. When I started going to school, I didn't want to have short hair and I started crying when my grandfather took me to the barber. Grandpa was very strict and everyone in the family was used to obeying him and fulfilling his orders. Over time, my mother managed to talk my grandfather out of it, and from the age of 8 I stopped going to the old-fashioned barber with him and started going to a UNISEX barbershop with my mother in the city. Later, I went for a small haircut from a modern barber shop alone. My hair gradually got longer and longer. My hair was already covering my ears, touching my shirt collar at the back of my head, and my bangs were covering my eyes. But I didn't like modern barbers either. I always had a bad feeling when I went to get my hair done. There were only 5 boys in the class who had conservative parents and had short, unfashionable haircuts. I was one of those boys who happily laughed at them for every new short haircut they got.
Grandpa was not happy with my long hair and every time we came to visit him, he told my mother to cut my hair. Sister Elizabeth then laughed at me and started snapping her fingers as if indicating scissors. I was already 11 years old and my grandfather didn't like my hair more and more. He told his mother that I was already a big boy and it was necessary for Michael to finally have strict boyish discipline.
It was early April, I was 11 years old and the weather was still cold. It was Sunday, grandfather was telling my mother again that I need strict discipline and I need to get a haircut. Elizabeth began to mock me, pointing the scissors with her fingers.
On Monday, after school, my grandfather was waiting for me in front of the school. I was surprised why he was waiting for me at school. But it didn't take long for me to find out the reason for the meeting. He said: we need to do something with your hair. I said I didn't want to go to his barber. But my grandfather cheered me up when he said that his barber was ill for a long time. That's why I promised my grandfather that I would get a haircut in a modern unisex barber shop. But grandpa said he found a good barber near my school. As we approached Sergeant Simson's old fashioned barber shop. I told my grandfather that I will not enter this barbershop. Grandpa grabbed my hair just above my temple bone and lifted it sharply before slapping my cheek. I screamed loudly in pain and tears came to my eyes. Grandpa said he was going to have me cut today at Sergeant Simson's barbershop. I was hoping the barber shop would be closed. Grandfather pushed me forward at the entrance to the barbershop. I grabbed the door handle and the door opened. Sergeant Simson is about 55 years old, a slim tall gentleman in a white coat. In his chair sat an old gentleman who had really short hair. Two other old men were sitting on the wooden waiting chairs. The barber shop was furnished with old furniture. On the walls hung 5 paintings of short boys' hairstyles, 3 paintings were of short military hairstyles, and several paintings of older men's hairstyles.
I was nervous, I didn't know what to expect. I wondered which of the boys with conservative parents went or still go to Sergeant Simson's barber shop. Grandpa interrupted me from my thoughts when he said: Michael, it's your turn, run and sit in the chair.
In the meantime, the barber put 3 pads in the chair to make me taller. When I sat down in the chair, the barber wrapped me in a large sheet and fastened it tightly around the collar of my shirt. He said what are we going to do with this hair? I wanted to say just a little shorter, but grandpa overtook me and said: Cut it like the boy in the middle picture. I turned my head to look at the picture, but Barber Sergeant Simson blocked my view.
The barber violently pushed my head forward, applied electric clippers to my neck. I wanted to move my head, but the barber's heavy hand held my head firmly. The barber warned me to hold my head as he turned it, otherwise I might end up bald. In the meantime, the scissors that rose from the neck towards the top of the head had already sounded. After 3 years, I felt the vibration of electric clippers on my head. Almost all the hair from the back of my head and later on both sides of my head started to fall on my shoulders and then on the sheet. The door of the barber shop opened and I felt the cold air on the back of my head. I noticed my hairless ears and it seemed to me that they were too big.
The barber took a comb from the breast pocket of his coat and began to raise the hair on the top of his head with it, then cut off a large part of it.
The barber finished his haircut and brushed the hair from the sheet around his neck and shoulders. He took another pair of electric clippers and began cutting 1/4 inch long hair from the back of his head and around his ears. Once done, he used scissors and a comb to do a gradual transition from minimal stubble to the top of my head where I had about 1.5 inches of hair. The barber finally cut my bangs straight and years later I saw 3/4 of my forehead without hair.
When the barber freed me from the sheet, I went to jump down from the chair, but the barber caught me with his heavy hand and said: Sit still, we are not done yet.
The barber wet my head and applied white cream around my ears and on the nape of my neck. He sharpened the razor against the leather belt and began to scrape the cream. After he scraped the cream off my head, he wiped the residue on a towel. He applied cologne to the shaved part of his head, which stung a bit, and applied greasy cream to the hair on the top of his head and combed the short hair.
10 minutes ago I sat in the barber's chair and saw myself in the mirror with nice long modern hair. Now I saw in the mirror a boy with a small head and relatively large ears, with an unfashionable very short. Large shaved arches with smooth white skin around the ears. I looked like a 9-year-old boy, but in reality I was already 11 years and 3 months old. When the barber freed me from the big sheet, I put my hand on the back of my head. I could feel a clean shaven part under my palm from the shirt and as I moved my palm to the top of my head I could feel the stubble as if I was running sandpaper over my palm. The barber took a small mirror in his hand, stood behind me and showed me the shaved nape and sides of the head. Half of the nape of the neck from the shirt collar was shaved clean and then the stubble gradually increasing to the top of the head was visible. It was the same on the sides of the head. Above the ears, 1/2 of the side of the head was shaved smooth, and then the stubble gradually increased to the top of the head.
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Now my grandfather replaced me in the barber's chair and I sat down on the free waiting chair. I had the feeling that everyone was watching my freshly cut head. I saw a boy of about 7 years old with his father on the waiting chair. The boy had about 1/2 inch hair on the back of his head and not even 2 inches on the top of his head. I remembered how, when I was his age, I regularly went to an old-fashioned barber shop with my grandfather, and my hair was even shorter before it was cut.
I was convinced that I would never go back to this barber shop, that my mother and grandfather would talk and I would have long hair again.
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As Grandpa was paying the barber for our haircuts, Barber Sergeant Simson said to Grandpa. Don't let the boy grow his hair that long. Grandpa replied: I'm sure you'll see Michael again in your barbershop before long, Sergeant Simson. I was thinking about how to convince my grandfather with my mother to never set foot in Sergeant Simson's barber shop again.
On the way home I felt an unpleasant cold wind on the shaved parts of my head.
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Years later, I experienced an incredible amount of ridicule from boys at school. But I assured everyone that it was just a random short haircut and I would once again have long hair and go to a modern unisex barber shop.
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My mother and I talked my grandfather into wearing a modern hairstyle with longer hair again. But grandpa didn't like our opinions about my hair. He promised I wouldn't go to Sergeant Simson's barber shop every two weeks. Nurse Elizabeth kept provoking me with mocking gestures of chasing fingers, suggesting scissors.
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Time passed slowly. I checked my hair daily but it grew quite slowly. I would like to finally have them long. My hair gradually grew, I already had 1/2 inch long hair on the back of my head, the hair started to touch the top of my ears and on the back of my head my hair will soon be 2 inches. The length of my hair reminded me a lot of the 7 year old boy I saw waiting chairs at Sergeant Simson's barber shop.
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It has been 4 weeks since I sat in the chair of the unfashionable barber Sergeant Simson after 3 years. It was Monday, I came out of school and saw my grandfather waiting for me. I had a bad feeling he was going to take me back to Sergeant Simson's barber shop. After being greeted, I timidly asked where we were going and I was afraid of his answer. We're going to get a haircut, Michael. I started to cry like in the past, but grandpa told me in a stern voice: Stop making a scene here immediately. You are no longer a spoiled little boy. Get used to the discipline. Or do you want to get the haircut of the boy from the last photo hanging on the wall in Sergeant Simson's barber shop? I quickly remembered that there was a boy in that photo with all his hair cut off. Afraid that my grandfather would let me get a haircut like that, I wiped my eyes and reluctantly went with him to Sergeant Simson's barber shop. All the way to the barbershop, my legs were breaking.
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Upon arriving at Sergeant Simson's barbershop, the barber told Grandpa that he was glad he didn't let me grow long hair. All the waiting chairs were empty. The barber finished cutting the elderly man in a few minutes, then I was instructed to sit in the barber's chair. When I was wrapped in a large sheet, grandpa asked if he should cut my hair like the last haircut. Grandpa said, yes, I want you to cut it like the last time. When the barber put his hand on my head, he put it in a deep bow. I felt like I was sitting in the electric chair. When the barber finished cutting, I knew what would happen tomorrow at school.
I knew it was the end of my long hair for a very long time. Barber Sergeant Simson became my new barber.

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