Tyler's New Start by Drew Tetrov

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Tyler, an exchange student with long, wavy hair that nearly reached his shoulders, arrived in Birmingham, Alabama, on August 21st, ready for a year of new experiences. His host father, Mr. Harrison, a former military man, welcomed him warmly, showing him around town and sharing local customs. A few days after Tyler’s arrival, Mr. Harrison brought up a topic that Tyler had hoped to avoid.

"Tyler, around here, it’s a tradition for kids to get a fresh haircut before school starts," Mr. Harrison said with a friendly but firm tone. "After a summer of letting their hair grow out, everyone gets a back-to-school haircut. It’s kind of an American rite of passage."

Tyler hesitated, his hand reflexively brushing through his long, wavy hair. He liked it the way it was—wild and untamed. The thought of cutting it made him uncomfortable, but he also sensed that his host father was offering more than just a suggestion. Reluctantly, he replied, "Maybe I could get a trim, just to clean it up a bit?"

"Alright," Mr. Harrison agreed, though his expression didn’t quite match the easy-going tone. "We’ll head to a barber for that. I’ll take you to the place I go."

Tyler’s hope flickered, and he asked, "Could we go to a hairdresser instead? They usually know how to handle longer hair better."

But Mr. Harrison shook his head and smiled. "Tyler, it’s part of the American experience to visit a real barbershop. Trust me. It’ll be something you won’t forget." Tyler nodded reluctantly, though a sense of dread gnawed at him. Mr. Harrison’s next words deepened that unease: "Let’s get it over with now."

The urgency in Mr. Harrison’s voice made Tyler feel as though he was being led to something inevitable. They got into the car, heading toward the Sumpter Smith Air National Guard Base, where Mr. Harrison preferred to do his shopping and errands. It wasn’t just a place for better prices; it was part of the life he had known for years, a world Tyler was only beginning to understand.

After a short drive, they pulled into the parking lot of the base’s exchange—a large, mall-like complex. Inside, they made their way through the corridors until they reached the BX Barbershop. As they approached, Tyler’s anxiety grew. The shop was precisely what he feared: a classic, no-nonsense military barbershop, with a long row of barber chairs lined up against mirrors, facing an array of clippers and scissors. On the walls hung photos of classic military cuts—high and tights, flattops, buzz cuts, and tight side parts. The place felt like an assembly line for haircuts.

Tyler’s stomach twisted as they walked in. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the strands that had become so much a part of him. All around, he saw men in uniform waiting for their turns or getting freshly shorn. He felt out of place, a stranger in a foreign ritual.

Every chair was occupied, with several people waiting on the benches by the wall. Mr. Harrison gestured for Tyler to sit, then handed him a catalog of hairstyles. "Pick something you like, Tyler. They can do it better if you show them a picture."

Tyler opened the catalog, flipping through page after page of short, tidy cuts—nothing like the style he had in mind. The longest he found was a side part with a fringe swept over the forehead, about two inches on top—easily ten inches shorter than what he currently sported. He felt a tightness in his chest as he scanned the options. None of these looked like him.

"Mr. Harrison," Tyler said, trying to keep his voice steady, "these are all way too short. I just wanted a trim to clean it up before school starts."

Mr. Harrison looked at him with a half-smile. "If the barber isn’t using clippers, it isn’t a clean-up, Tyler. Pick something you like."

Tyler froze, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He could sense that this wasn’t just a casual suggestion—Mr. Harrison wanted him to embrace something new, something different. His host father pointed to a high and tight style with a buzzed crown and a slightly longer fringe of about an inch. "This would suit you, it’s a very American haircut. I want you to consider it. After all, you wouldn’t come to America if you were afraid of changes, would you?"

Tyler turned pale. He wanted to protest, to hold on to the hair that made him feel like himself, but Mr. Harrison continued, "Look, it’s a good opportunity to start fresh. Nobody at the new school knows you, so you can get a completely new haircut, and when you walk in on your first day, they’ll think you’ve always looked like that. No awkward stares or questions about the change. You’re not a kid anymore, Tyler. You’re stepping into adulthood, and sometimes, that means looking the part."

Tyler remained silent, closing the catalog and placing it back on the small conference table next to them. He could feel time slowing down, as if he was standing before a tribunal, facing questions about who he was and who he wanted to become. Before he could gather his thoughts, he heard the call: "Next! You, young man, you’re up."

Tyler’s heart pounded as he stood and walked over to the chair. A slightly older Asian American barber capped him up and lifted his long hair from beneath the cape, gathering it in her hands. She looked at him, then at Mr. Harrison. "How are we cutting it today? Trim or some short back-to-school style?"

Tyler hesitated, feeling like all eyes were on him, but before Mr. Harrison could say anything, he spoke up. "Yeah, something short for going back to school. Short sides and a little longer on top."

The barber nodded, then smiled. "Alright, let’s get you sorted out." She reached for a large, metallic set of clippers, fitting them with a number 2 guard. Tyler swallowed hard as the clippers roared to life, the buzz filling his ears. Without a moment’s hesitation, she placed them at the nape of his neck and drove them upward, all the way to the crown.

Tyler watched in the mirror, his stomach sinking as a thick swath of his hair fell to the floor in a heap. The sensation of the clippers against his scalp sent a chill through him, and he tried to focus on breathing steadily. She moved methodically, buzzing up the sides, transforming his head into something foreign to him with each pass.

She continued her way up the left side, leaving a high fade that transitioned into the remaining once long, now much shorter hair on top. Strands tumbled down in clumps, piling around the base of the chair and beneath the cape. Tyler could only watch as he was slowly revealed from under his blanket of hair.

"Looking good," she said, setting the clippers aside and picking up a pair of scissors. She combed down his long fringe, which was the last part of his long hairstyle that still reached his chin, and snipped it right in the center of his forehead, sending the ends fluttering down, no questions asked before Tyler could say that he intended to keep the fringe at least passed his eyes, but he was too stunend. "Now you can see how it’s shaping up." added the lady.

Tyler stared at his reflection, barely recognizing the person staring back at him—a kid with neatly clipped sides and short bangs. He felt exposed, the loss of his familiar waves hitting him harder than he expected.

The top of his head was next. She then grabbed the clippers again, using a technique called clipper-over-comb to blend the crown into the sides and back but after a moment she adjusted the clippers with a longer guard, moving with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times. Again, no questions asked she clipped the back side of his crown to just over an inch, carefully blending it into the freshly buzzed sides. The difference was stark; the hair that had once reached his shoulders was now reduced to less than an inch, and the waves and curls were replaced with a uniform, straight texture. She proceeded to cut the fringe, now only straight school-boy-like through Tyler's forehead, which was further shortened and neatly blended into the section of crown buzzed with the longer guard. She sprayed some water on his hair to add some texture to the fringe, so it spiked up.

"Is this short enough?" she asked, stepping back to let Tyler see.

Tyler turned his head left and right, feeling a mixture of unease and strange stomach twisting. He saw a version of himself he had never imagined. After a moment, he spoke, "I don’t really like the little fringe. Could you take it off?"

She raised an eyebrow but nodded, fitting a longer guard onto the clippers. Without hesitation, she guided the clippers through the remaining length, evening out the crown. A few quick passes and his fringe was gone, leaving a smooth, buzzed velvety crown, blended into the shorter sides.

She tapered the hairline at the back of his neck, brushed off the loose clippings with a large, worn brush, and finally stood back. "All done. Short enough?" she asked with a smile.

Tyler rubbed his hand over the freshly buzzed high and tight, feeling the rough texture of the closely-clipped hair. "Yeah, I don’t think it could go much shorter considering where I started," he said, a faint, nervous laugh escaping him.

The barber chuckled. "Well, there’s always next time," she replied, unhooking the cape. Tyler stood up, glancing down at the pile of his hair on the floor. The sight of it made his chest tighten, but he couldn’t help feeling a strange exhilaration as well.

Mr. Harrison nodded approvingly as Tyler approached. "Good call, Tyler. It suits your features."

Tyler managed a smile, "Thanks for the push."

Mr. Harrison clapped him on the back. "It was your call in the end. I’m proud of young boys who aren’t afraid to become young men on their own" He paid the barber, and they walked out together.

As they drove home, Tyler couldn’t stop glancing at his reflection in the car window, his fingers running over the short buzz. It was a completely new look, but he found himself beginning to appreciate the change. With the music playing softly and the Alabama sun setting, Tyler realized that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of a year filled with the unexpected, and that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

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