His Father's Voice by Merv Wolf

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I walked past the barbershop, again, nervously looking at the barber sitting in the barber chair waiting for his next customer.
The barber was older, probably in his 50's. His graying hair was buzzed short. He was wearing a maroon smock. Otherwise the shop was empty.
If I went in there would be no one ahead of me. No time to think about what to say to the barber. No time to change my mind and walk out again.
The shop was just off-campus and I had walked past it many times over the last semester. My hair had slowly inched down my neck and over my ears as my last ivy league cut had been months ago. I had been attempting grow out my hair to emulate my dorm mate's long, dark pomp. He had such a beautiful head of hair, which he fussed with constantly.
I still needed several months for mine to grow out to be as long as his, but I also really needed a cut. My Dad would really not approve of how long it had gotten. I should get it cut before I went home for Christmas vacation. He would, of course, prefer my hair to be like the barber's. He truly hated long hair on men, and by definition, this meant anything longer than an inch. And definitely the nape and ears should be outlined with lather and a razor.
I thought how that would feel. Conflicted. Should I just ask for a trim. Or should I submit to my Father's voice, telling the barber to cut it short? But how short? I pushed the hair off my forehead. It was almost to my eyes. My Dad would hate that.
Resolutely, I turned around and walked back to the shop. Nervous and excited at the same time, I opened the door to the shop where a bell announced my arrival.
I nodded at the barber, barely able to speak.
"What can I do for you, son?", the barber asked.
"A haircut?", I replied.
"Well, you've come to the right place, I think. Look's like it's been a few months since your last cut?."
"Yeah, I've been busy with school and stuff. Thought I would get it cut before I went home for vacation."
"My Dad......"
"Well, take a seat and I'll try to give you what you need. We aim to please."
I hung my jacket on the coat rack in the corner and took my seat in the barber chair. It was a real classic with black leather upholstery and chrome frame, the Koken logo in the foot rest.
The barber caped me up, the paper strip tight around my neck. I rearranged myself under the cape, thankful that I was wearing loose chinos and not tight Levi's. Embarrassing how my body always reacted when I got in a barber chair.
The barber went to the window and turned the open sign to closed and then dropped the blinds..
"This is going to be the last cut of the day," he said. "You have all my attention." "So, what can I do for you?"
"Well, maybe a trim? Just a bit shorter?"
"Okay, but could you be a bit more specific?" He had taken out a comb and was running it through my bangs, combing them down over my forehead. "You said something about your Dad....?"
"Well, I've been trying to grow it out, but he probably wouldn't approve. You know. He still wears a crew cut."
"And how do you feel about that?" He caught my eyes in the mirror as he continued to run the barber comb through my hair. Then ruffled it with his hand. "You have a nice head of hair going here. You willing to sacrifice that to please your Dad? Or should I just clean you up at the nape and around your ears and leave it at that?"
"Dad would probably be happiest if I came home with a buzz, like yours. What would you suggest? I'll go with whatever you say just so I don't have to decide. I might just be happiest getting rid of the mop. Do whatever you think is best."
The barber lifted my bangs straight up with his comb. "What do YOU want, son? Really?" He picked up a big Oster clipper off the counter, and switched it on and then off. The sound made me jerk in the chair. "This?" He sat that down and then picked up shears and a barber comb. "Or a trim?" He picked up my bangs with his fingers and comb, pulling the hair straight up. Then he just gripped the hair up with his fist.
Pulling gently. "What'll it be?"
I sat paralyzed in the chair, unable to speak. Staring at his eyes in the mirror. "Do it", I whispered. I shut my eyes tight.
"Do what?"
"Clippers. Get rid of that girly hair. I never should have grown it out in the first place."
I heard him turn on the Osters. The whine as they bit into the hairline at my forehead. His hand steadying my head as the clippers plowed a path thru that hated long hair. I didn't even know what blade he had used, but I had a feeling it was a low number.
Dad would be pleased.

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