My stepfather Pete by Herr Cutt

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The New Turkish Barber

I was visiting my stepfather, Pete, for the weekend in the summer of 2019. Pete, a man in his late fifties, was tall and broad-shouldered, with a demeanor that commanded respect. He had a stern yet caring expression, and his eyes held the wisdom of years of life experience. He always dressed neatly, preferring button-down shirts and well-pressed trousers, which added to his authoritative presence.

As soon as I arrived, Pete took one look at me and frowned.

Pete: "Tony, your hair is way too long. You know how important it is to keep it neat and tidy. What were you thinking?"

Me: "Sorry, sir. I've been busy and didn't have time to get a haircut."

Pete: "That's no excuse. Maintaining a disciplined appearance is crucial. Even in your thirties, you should know this by now. We're going to get you a proper haircut right now."

Me: "But sir, I've got plans today. Can't it wait?"

Pete: "Absolutely not. A proper haircut is non-negotiable. We're going now."

Feeling a mix of guilt and submission, I nodded reluctantly and followed Pete as we walked to a new Turkish barbershop that had opened just down the road from his house. The exterior looked inviting and clean. The barber was an older man, perhaps in his late forties, clean-shaven, and dressed immaculately.

As we walked inside, the barber was finishing up a haircut for a young man. He greeted us with a nod. Once the young man left, the barber went to fetch a man who I later found would act as the interpreter. When the interpreter arrived, he greeted us and inquired about our needs.

Man: "How can we help you, sir?"

Pete: "My son needs a haircut. Number zero on the sides and back, and keep it short on top. Make sure it looks sharp and well-groomed."

Pete insisted the interpreter stay and oversee the haircut to ensure accuracy. The barber nodded in understanding. The barber then motioned for me to sit in the chair. As I stood up, Pete followed closely and stood beside the chair. The barber draped a pristine white neck strip around my neck, securing it tightly but comfortably. He then unfolded a large, black cape and swirled it over me, fastening it at the back.

Pete: "Sit up straight, Tony."

I felt a surge of nervousness as I quickly obeyed, sitting up straight in the chair. The authoritative tone in Pete's voice left no room for hesitation. The powerful hum of the clippers filled the room as the barber expertly guided them up the nape of my neck. I could feel Pete's presence beside me, his eyes never leaving the barber's hands.

As the clippers made their way up the back of my head, memories of my first haircut with Pete in Spain came rushing back.

A Flashback to July 1999

I had just turned fourteen and was on my first holiday with my new stepfather, along with my mum and younger sister. Pete and I had taken a walk into the Spanish town near where we were staying. It was late afternoon, and the shops were reopening after siesta. We passed a barbershop with the barber just opening.

Barber: "Buenas noches."

Pete, who spoke some Spanish, began chatting with the barber, who seemed rather old. I heard "corte de pelo" and Pete nodding, then pointing to my head and saying "un corte de pelo muy corto," which I now know meant a very short haircut. The barber then pointed to the chair and said, "Toma asiento."

Pete: "He’s going to cut your hair, Tony. Take a seat."

Me: "But I don’t need a haircut."

Pete: "That’s rather up to me now, Tony. Stepfathers get to make these decisions, and if I say haircut, you get a haircut."

Barber: "Toma asiento."

Reluctantly, I grudgingly sat in the barber's chair. The cape was soon draped around me and snugly tucked in.

Pete: "Voy por una cerveza fría."

Barber: "Sí señor, disfrútalo."

Pete: "I’m going for a cold beer."

Me: "But I don’t speak any Spanish."

Pete: "All you need to know is 'Gracias, señor' when he’s finished cutting your hair."

With that, Pete left me with the barber, who wasted no time in turning the chair away from the mirror before selecting his clippers and placing his large hand on the top of my head, bending it forward. The clippers sprang to life, and he began stripping the back of my head.

The barber's large, calloused hands held my head firmly in place as the clippers buzzed relentlessly. Each pass of the clippers felt like a step closer to an unwanted transformation. My hair fell onto the cape in thick tufts, and I felt a growing sense of vulnerability. The barber worked with precision, his movements quick and efficient.

As the clippers made their way up the sides of my head, I could hear the sound of my hair being ruthlessly shorn. The barber paused occasionally to brush away loose hairs and adjust my head's position. Despite my initial resistance, I found myself complying with his firm guidance.

The clippers soon moved to the top of my head, reducing my once-lengthy hair to a uniform, short length. The sensation of the clippers against my scalp was both unsettling and oddly soothing. It was a stark reminder of Pete's authority and the new family dynamics I had to navigate.

Finally, the barber switched to a pair of sharp scissors, trimming any remaining unevenness and ensuring a clean finish. He applied a splash of aftershave to my freshly shorn scalp, the sting a sharp reminder of the drastic change I had just undergone.

Barber: "Gracias, señor."

Me: (quietly) "Gracias, señor."

When Pete returned to collect me, his demeanor was calm and composed, but I could sense the weight of his expectations. The barber had just finished my haircut, leaving me with a starkly short crew cut that left no room for argument or negotiation.

Pete: (approvingly) "Well, Tony, that looks much better. A proper short haircut suits you."

He took a moment to inspect the cut, running his hand over the back of my head to feel the smoothness of the freshly shorn scalp. His nod of approval was subtle but unmistakable.

Pete: "Remember, Tony, this is the standard I expect you to maintain. A disciplined haircut is a sign of a disciplined life."

I felt a mix of emotions—relief that the ordeal was over, but also a sense of acceptance and understanding of the new family dynamics. Pete's authority was clear, and his words reinforced the importance of discipline and tradition.

Pete: "Let's head back. Your mum will be pleased to see you've had a proper haircut."

As we walked back to the hotel, I felt the cool evening air on my bare scalp, a constant reminder of the day's events. It was a turning point, one that instilled in me a deeper understanding of respect and obedience.

Back to 2019

The Turkish barber's clippers continued to buzz as he worked on the back of my head. The sensation of the clippers against my scalp was both exhilarating and humbling. I felt a sense of submissiveness and compliance as the barber expertly guided the clippers up the nape of my neck, removing the hair with precision.

Pete's presence beside me was a reminder of the discipline and respect he had instilled in me over the years.

Pete: "Make sure it's a clean finish. No shortcuts."

The interpreter relayed Pete's instructions to the barber, who continued his work with precision. The clippers buzzed steadily, leaving a swath of bare skin in their wake. I felt a sense of submission and compliance as the barber worked.

As the barber moved to the sides of my head, Pete gave further instructions.

Pete: "Keep it tight around the ears and make sure it's even."

The interpreter communicated Pete's wishes, and the barber carefully shaped the hair around my ears. Pete's strict and assertive guidance ensured that the haircut was exactly as he envisioned.

Once the sides and back were thoroughly buzzed down to a zero, the barber switched to a pair of clippers with a guard. He moved to the top of my head, carefully reducing the length of the hair to a uniform, short cut.

Pete: "Not too short on top, but make sure it looks sharp."

The barber nodded and continued his work, ensuring that the top of my hair was neatly trimmed and well-groomed. The rhythmic sound of the clippers and the familiar sensation of the hair being removed brought back memories of the past.

The barber then brushed away any loose hairs and retrieved a foil-headed shaver from the drawer. He began to shave the back and sides of my head, ensuring a smooth, clean finish. The sensation of the foil shaver against my scalp was oddly soothing, and I instinctively bowed my head further down, allowing the barber to work with ease.

Pete: "Make sure it's perfectly smooth. I don't want any rough spots."

The barber's meticulous attention to detail was impressive. He moved with calm confidence, making sure every inch of the shaved area was perfectly smooth. The rhythmic motion of the shaver was almost meditative, and I felt myself becoming more relaxed with each pass.

As the barber finished, he dusted off any remaining loose hairs and removed the cape with a flourish. The interpreter held up a mirror for me to see the back and sides.

Man: "Are you happy with your haircut, sir?"

Pete answered for me, his voice firm and approving.

Pete: "It's exactly what I wanted. Thank you."

The barber smiled, and I felt a sense of satisfaction despite the unexpected outcome. The experience reminded me of the importance of flexibility and trust, especially when it comes to traditions and the skills of a seasoned professional.

The interpreter looked at me sternly while I was still in the chair and said, "You are fortunate to have your father to take you for your haircuts. He knows what needs to be done. You should appreciate and respect his guidance more."

Pete nodded in agreement and told me, "Answer the gentleman, Tony.

Feeling a mix of emotions, I quickly responded, "Yes, sir. I am fortunate. Thank you."

Pete's gaze never wavered. "That’s how a proper haircut should look, Tony. Remember that. I won't tolerate any more lapses in discipline."

I nodded submissively, feeling both self-conscious and proud. The haircut was a symbol of discipline and tradition, and I was ready to face the world with renewed confidence.

Life During Lockdown

In early 2020, as the world changed dramatically due to the pandemic, I found myself furloughed from work. Fortunately, due to a change in my circumstances, I had moved in with Pete, whose strict adherence to discipline and routine provided the structure I desperately needed.

Pete's reign was tight. He believed that maintaining discipline and structure was crucial, especially during uncertain times. From the moment I woke up to the time I went to bed, my day was meticulously planned under Pete's watchful eye.

Pete wasn’t one to make exceptions. As soon as he realized that the barbers would be closed for an extended period, he took matters into his own hands. He ordered a professional set of clippers online, ensuring that they had various guards and attachments to achieve the precise haircut he expected.

Pete: "Tony, come with me. We're going to the shed. Just because the barbers are closed doesn’t mean we lower our standards."

Me: "Yes, sir."

I felt a mix of apprehension and resignation as I followed Pete to his shed, which he had transformed into a makeshift barber station. The shed was dimly lit, with a single overhead light casting shadows on the tools laid out meticulously on the workbench. Pete had prepared a chair, a cape, and the clippers with various guards and attachments.

Pete: "Sit down and sit up straight. We'll maintain the same haircut as always—a number zero on the sides and back, and very short on top."

As I sat in the chair, Pete carefully draped the cape around me and secured it at the back. The familiar hum of the clippers filled the shed as he began the process. Despite not being a professional barber, Pete's firm hand and attention to detail ensured the haircut was done with precision and severity.

Pete: "Keep still, Tony. Discipline applies even now, especially now."

The clippers buzzed steadily as Pete expertly guided them up the nape of my neck, just as the barbers had done before. The feeling of my hair being removed brought back memories of past haircuts, and I felt a sense of submission and respect for Pete’s unwavering standards.

Pete: "Remember, Tony, maintaining discipline during tough times is even more important. I'm making sure you don't forget that."

Pete's demeanor was more severe than usual, his eyes never leaving my head. His large, calloused hands worked with precision, making sure every inch was shaved correctly. He trimmed the top of my hair with the clippers, leaving it very short and sharp. The process was methodical and efficient, a testament to Pete’s determination to uphold standards.

After finishing the haircut, Pete inspected his work, running his hand over the back of my head to ensure it was smooth.

Pete: "This is how I expect you to look, Tony. Even during a lockdown, we maintain our discipline. Understand?"

I nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and respect for Pete. His unwavering commitment to discipline and tradition had not only kept my appearance in check but also reinforced the values he had instilled in me over the years.

Pete: "Now it's your turn to cut my hair. Don't worry, I'll guide you."

A wave of dread washed over me as I realized I had to cut Pete's hair. The thought of making a mistake and failing to meet his exacting standards filled me with anxiety.

Me: "Yes, sir."

Pete: "Remember, I expect the same precision and discipline."

As Pete sat down, he exuded a manly confidence, and I could feel the weight of his expectations pressing down on me. I carefully picked up the cape and draped it around him, securing it tightly around his thick neck.

Pete: "Make sure it's tight, Tony. Tighter."

I adjusted the cape, ensuring it was fastened securely. The sight of Pete sitting there, all manly and composed, filled me with a sense of both admiration and dread.

Pete: "Pay attention, Tony. I want a number one on the sides and back, and a short, neat trim on top. Follow my instructions precisely."

I carefully picked up the clippers and began the process, my hands trembling slightly. Pete's stern gaze and constant instructions made the task even more daunting.

Pete: "Steady your hand, Tony. I won't tolerate any mistakes. Make sure it's even and sharp."

His demanding tone kept me on edge, and I focused intently on every pass of the clippers. The pressure was immense, and the fear of disappointing him drove me to be as meticulous as possible. My heart raced, and I could feel sweat forming on my brow. The clippers seemed heavier than they were, and each movement felt like navigating a minefield.

Pete: "Don't rush. Precision is key. If you make a mistake, we'll do it over until it's perfect."

I followed his guidance, meticulously trimming his hair and ensuring it met his standards. The shed felt smaller, the air thicker with tension. Despite my initial fear, I managed to complete the haircut without any major errors, though it took much longer than expected due to his strict supervision.

Pete: "Inspect your work, Tony. It must be flawless."

I carefully checked every angle, ensuring there were no uneven spots or missed areas. The intensity of the situation made me hyper-aware of every detail. My pulse quickened as I inspected the cut, hoping it would meet his approval.

Pete: "Not bad, Tony. But remember, next time I expect even better. Discipline is key. Now, hold up that mirror so I can see the back."

I picked up a hand mirror and held it up so Pete could inspect the back of his head. He scrutinized the cut closely, running his hand over the back of his head to check for smoothness.

Pete: "Looks good. This is how I expect it to be every time. Understand?"

Me: "Yes, sir."

I felt a sense of relief and accomplishment as I finished. The experience reinforced the lessons Pete had instilled in me about discipline, precision, and respect for tradition. The entire process, from the meticulous setup of the shed to the demanding nature of Pete’s instructions, served as a stark reminder of the standards I was expected to uphold, no matter the circumstances. The weight of his expectations was both a burden and a guiding force, pushing me to strive for perfection.

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