I will teach you discipline Jarina. by Jarino

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I grew up in the 70s, when it was fashionable for boys to have long hair. I lived only with a strict mother. I was already 12 years old and regularly every month my mother took me to an old-fashioned barbershop with one barber's chair for a regular short haircut. In our class, in addition to me, Michael regularly went to the same old-fashioned barber shop and had the same haircut as me. Another of Scoot's classmates got about 4 short haircuts in a year.
I envied the boys who had long hair and I wished that my hair would at least cover my ears, cover my shirt collar. I was already 12.5 years old when the barber to whom my mother took me for regular haircuts retired. Here I had a great opportunity to wear longer hair.
I haven't been to an old-fashioned barbershop in over a year, and my hair gradually grew and I started to have a modern haircut. My mother sometimes took me to her hairdresser to have my hair styled a little. In our class, only Michael had short hair. I was very happy that my mother agreed for me to have a modern boy's haircut.
Sometimes my grandfather came to visit us for the weekend, but he didn't like my hair and told my mother to take me to a proper barber.
Two months before my 14th birthday, my grandfather criticized my hair again during his weekend visit. On Sunday, he said he would stay with us for a few more days. A big surprise was when my grandfather was waiting for me in front of the school after classes. We walked together to the edge of town. I timidly asked him where we were going. He replied that to a proper male barber. I started talking to him that I would like to have a modern haircut like all the other boys my age. But the grandfather insisted on his decision. When I saw a small old building in front of us with a barber shop symbol, I knew we were going to an old fashioned barber shop. I started to fight back, but my grandfather grabbed my hair and dragged me to the barbershop.
When we entered the barbershop, an old man was sitting in the barber's chair. The barber who cut him was around 50 years old, had short hair and was wearing a white coat. The waiting old wooden chairs were empty. Old, browned pictures of boys and men with short haircuts hung on the walls. A lady with a 10-year-old boy entered the barbershop shortly after us.
It didn't take long and I was invited to sit in the barber's chair. I tried to talk my grandfather into letting the barber just do a little trim on my hair. But when the barber wrapped me in a sheet, which he fastened tightly around my neck, when asked what we were going to do with this boy, grandfather answered: Make him a boy, because now he looks like a girl. In the mirror, I saw a boy on the waiting chairs, smiling and waiting for me to lose my beautiful hair. I felt like I was in the electric chair.
The barber combed my hair, bent my head forward and placed a cold metal electric machine under my hair on my neck. When he sounded behind the machine, it reminded me of a harvester. I saw about 18 centimeters of my hair on the sheet. The barber climbed on my beautiful hair which fell to the ground. I noticed that the grandfather walked up to us and told the barber that I was very bad today and to raise it even higher. The barber started cutting my hair at the nape of my neck again and I felt the sharp teeth of the clipper closely copy my head. Before the barber started to cut the hair on my right side, I saw a boy in the waiting chair laughing at my scalping. When I noticed that the barber had cut all the hair on the right side of my head, tears began to well up in my eyes. It didn't take long before the barber cut my hair on the left side of my head as well. With my grandfather's consent, he left about 5 centimeters of hair on the top of my head, which he combed forward and cut about 4 centimeters above the eyebrows. The barber lathered the sides and back of my head. When he scraped off the lather, I could see a clean, smooth scalp. Tears were already running down my cheeks.
When I left the barber's chair, I only had hair on the top of my head. It was the shortest haircut I've ever had. While paying, the grandfather told the barber that I would now be his regular customer.
On the way home, my grandfather informed me that I was responsible for this hairstyle. If I was disciplined, my hair would stay longer.


The next day at school was hell. I have never experienced so much ridicule and humiliation for my new hairstyle.
Grandpa kept his promise to the barber. In 3 weeks I was already sitting in his chair to make a new short haircut. It wasn't as drastic as his first visit but my hair on the top of my head stayed a bit longer and I had about 3 centimeters of white shaved arch above my ears and I was hairless about 10 centimeters from my neck on the back of my neck. This happened every 3 weeks and I never had the courage to contradict my grandfather when he said we were going to the barber.

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