Talking to Grandpa Part I by Just_Me

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“Jesus, Grandpa! What the hell were you thinking when you inflicted these horrible haircuts on your boys? They look ridiculous!"

I shook my head. “Great! I’m talking to a man who’s been dead for fifty years. This isolation is getting to me!"

It was only two weeks into the coronavirus quarantine, and I was tired of playing games on my phone. I got so bored that I grabbed a beer and pulled out all of the boxes of pictures I had inherited from Mom (dozens of big boxes. There were thousands of pictures in them. We have a saying in our family. “If someone goes to sneeze, someone else is going to say, “Hold that sneeze. Wait until I get my camera. I want a picture of it.“) Anyway, I started looking at the family pictures. Seeing a circa 1940’s picture of Grandpa, Dad and his three brothers was what made me comment.

I kept the conversation going. “Having hair that long on top of boys’ heads and their sides peeled up at least three inches is bizarre. The least you could’ve done was buzz ‘em down to an even length." I glared at his picture. “I’m glad you didn’t raise me."

I thought I heard him reply. “That was the style at the time- -and I reckon it still oughta be. Them boys looked mighty sharp, to my way of thinking."

I answered, without thinking. “Was it the style, or was it what you like?"

Suddenly it dawned on me. I thought, “What the hell, William? You’re talking to a ghost. They’re gonna be putting you in a straight jacket soon. You really need to get back to work."

For some stupid reason, I kept talking to Grandpa though. “Hang on, just a second. I want to check something." I started digging through the boxes to see if I could find some pictures of other kids during that time frame. Finally I found something to prove my point. I found Dad’s first-grade class picture. Lots of the little boys had short backs and sides, but Dad’s was a lot shorter than anyone else’s in the picture.

Despite thinking I was cracking up, I kept the conversation going, and held the picture up. “Hey, Grandpa. Check this out. I was right. It wasn’t the style. It was what you wanted."

In my imagination, he gave me a faint smile. “So what if it was- -and didn’t your father teach you no manners? Didn’t he learn you that it ain’t polite to correct your elders?"

“You’re right. Dad would be giving me hell if he heard this conversation."

We both laughed, and then I kept going. “You sound just like a grandfather should. By the way, thanks for coming to visit with me. I’ve always wondered what you were like."

“You’re right welcome, but let’s get back to what we was a talking about. How come you’re making fun of a haircut when you obviously ain’t never had a decent haircut, or least ways, you ain’t had one in living memory?" He sounded gruff when he continued talking, “Seeing you with that long hair makes me ashamed to call you my grandson, and let me tell you, next time I see that father or yours, I’m gonna give him hell for not teaching you no better."

“What’s wrong with my hair? It’s shorter now than it’s ever been." (Even though it was 2020, I still hadn’t moved past the long hair I’d grown in 1976. Well, maybe a little. I’d gone a little shorter every time I got a haircut the last few years. I figured in the next six months to a year you might be able to see the bottom of my ears. They were still fully covered right then.)

“Hearing you say that made me shudder! Did you say this is short? Your hair ain’t short! It’s disgusting, that’s what it is. Are you one of them ‘hippies’ I’ve heard about?"

He kept talking. “Having a decent haircut didn’t hurt them boys none at all. We had a heap of fun while I was whipping their hair into shape."

I started digging through the pictures, and found one of me with my hair the longest (It was past my shoulder blades). “Here, Grandpa. This is long hair. Mine’s short now, in comparison."

“I reckon I’d puke if I could. I ain’t never seen nothing more vile looking than that!"

I imagined the look of revulsion that he gave when he saw the picture, and honestly, I enjoyed the thought. “That’ll teach you to make comments about people’s hair."

We talked some more, and finally he left. I started talking to myself, instead of Grandpa. “William, I’m seriously worried about you. What the hell do you think you’re doing, talking to a ghost."

“Why are you so worried? Did it hurt anything? It was just your overactive imagination coming up with the idea for a story." I grinned. “Yep, it’s my imagination, but this is going to be a helluva great story."

I ran over to the computer, and started typing frantically. Halfway through, I stopped and re-read what I’d written. “That’s not bad, Thompson. It’s a little bizarre, but it has potential. Keep going."

Then I hit a blank spot. I couldn’t think of where the story could go. Would Grandpa come back? Would I crack up and wind up in a mental institution. Then a thought hit. “Worse than a mental institution, what if you wind up in a barber shop, William?"

I laughed at my fertile imagination and thought, “Don’t worry about that, William. That’ll never happen! You’ve been having a love affair with long hair for more than forty years. You’re not going to break up that relationship."

I began to wonder what grandpa would’ve thought about me, if he’d lived to see me grow up. My first thought was to wonder what he’d say if he knew he had a gay grandson. I puzzled on that, and couldn’t figure out what his reaction would’ve been. Some stories I’d heard about him made me think he was very tender-hearted. Others made him seem like a hard-ass. I also knew what generation he grew up in. I couldn’t imagine he would’ve been very accepting. Then I thought, “Well, no matter what he would’ve said about me being gay, one thing’s for sure. He’d have razzed me to no end about my hair. He started in on that within seconds of meeting me." I typed a few minutes more, and thought, “I wonder if he would’ve been able to talk Mom and Dad into making me keep my hair short?"

I almost gasped at the thought of going through the Seventies with short hair. I said out loud, “I don’t know if shame has ever killed anyone, but I think it would’ve killed me."

I stopped thinking about Grandpa and started sorting pictures again.

I ran across a picture of Grandpa, and was just staring at it, wondering what kind of man he’d been. You see, he’d died when Mom was pregnant with me. He knew he was dying, and actually took Mom shopping a few weeks before he died, and bought her a dress, hat and handbag to wear to his funeral.

As I was looking at his picture I heard his voice again. “Admiring my haircut?"

“Not quite, Grandpa."

“That’s a pity. I was hoping the picture would inspire you to run to a barber. I’m sure there’s probably still some out there that know how to give a real haircut."

“Sorry to disappoint you sir , but that ain’t likely to happen. I like my hair just like it is. Besides, all the old-fashioned barbers are on your side of reality—wherever you are."

“That’s a pity, a downright pity."

He sighed. I guess he had looked at the picture in my hand. He sounded wistful when he said, “I was quite the dreamboat, wasn’t I?" Then he continued. “You’ve got the look of a Thompson about you. You could look that dreamy. All it’d take would be a trip to a real barber."

“Give it up Grandpa. I can be as stubborn as you. Remember, I’m related to you, but I also have the Davis blood from Mom’s side of the family. They were every bit as stubborn as you. I can out-stubborn you."

He laughed. “That ain’t very likely!"

I ignored him for a bit, and then looked at his picture again. “Back to what we were talking about. Yes, you were a handsome man, and I can definitely see where Dad got his good looks. I guess I should thank you for passing those looks down to me. Everyone says I look just like Dad."

He had some iron in his voice. “Son, you ain’t never looked as good as Alvin did, not for even one day—not with that nasty mop on your head. Now, if you was to get a decent haircut, I might think different. As it is, you look like his daughter, not a son."

“You’re a crusty old buzzard, aren’t you?"

“Damn straight I am, and I’m right proud of it too!"

“Well, all I have to say to you, is if I’m his daughter, I’ve got the best looking beard I’ve ever seen on a woman!" (I’ve always been proud of my nice, thick beard. Looking at Grandpa, I could see I needed to thank him for those genes too.)

“Well, with that there long hair of yours, I reckon I could sell you to a circus. All they’d have to do is put you in a dress and they’d have a really nice freak for their sideshow."

“Grandpa, didn’t your momma teach you if you haven’t got something nice to say, to say nothing at all?"

I glared at his picture. “Go away! I’m sick of your insults!"

“I’m going, but I’m gonna tell you I'm right real proud of you for at least standing up to me. That’s the first sign I’ve had that you might be a real man."

His next comment brought me tears. "Before I leave, I gotta tell you. I heard your thoughts about being ‘gay’." He chuckled. “In my day, we called that homo, and I’ll admit I wouldn’t have been happy if I had found out while I was living, but we see lots of things on this side that I ain’t never seen when I was living. I know being a homo ain’t something you wanted. You were born that way, and I don’t give a damn about it. I just want you to be happy, and to be loved." He sighed. “If you can find someone that loves you as much as my Sally loved me, I’ll be right content."

His next comment made the tears that were hanging on the corner of my eyes fall. “I love you, son, homo, long hair and all. Don’t never forget that."

I tried to focus on the pictures after, but I couldn’t. I was too moved about what Grandpa had said. I gave up and went and got another beer out of the fridge. My conscience spoke up. “William, if you keep drinking beer like this, you’re gonna weigh five-hundred pounds by the time you go back to work." I mentally stuck my tongue out at my conscience, and guzzled half the beer.

Grandpa showed up again that night in my dreams. “How ya doing?"

Having never been one who responded well to being awakened, I retorted, “I was fine until your sorry ass woke me up."

I immediately felt bad for snapping at him. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. Dad taught me better than that."

“Don’t fret. You got not liking being woke up from me. I was always grumpy as a bear until I had my first cup of coffee."

I laughed. “It takes me at least two cups to get the lead out of my ass." Then I said, “Oops. Sorry about the slip of the tongue. It takes me a while to get awake."

Grandpa snorted. “Boy, don’t you be apologizing for using a little rough language. You’re a grown man, and can say what you want. Besides, you ain’t likely to say anything I ain’t never said before. I can cuss like a sailor when I’ve got my dander riled up."

I laughed. “Mom tried to get the profanity out of me, but it seems there’s not enough soap in the world to wash it out of me." I shivered, thinking about how many times she’d filled a toothbrush up with soap and scrubbed my mouth.

“Marie was always sensitive to cussing, but she could out-cuss any man I’ve ever knowed when she got her feathers ruffled."

I grinned. “She never changed. She was like that till the day she died."

Later that night I decided to go for a jog. My conscience (which sounded suspiciously like Mom) spoke up. “Good idea, William. You’d better run four miles, instead of your usual two. Think about all the beer you’ve been drinking."

I was tempted to say “Screw It" but went out anyway.

I was about halfway through my normal route, and I was getting pretty sweaty. I pushed my hair out of my eyes (again). Then I heard Grandpa again. “If you had a decent haircut your hair couldn’t get in your eyes."

“Grandpa, I’d greatly appreciate it if you would just give up on the haircut idea. It ain’t going to happen."

“Just offering a bit of helpful advice."

I gave him the silent treatment.

A few minutes later he spoke up again. “I can definitely tell you’re a Thompson. Ain’t no family on the planet as stubborn as we are." (He sounded proud when he said it.)

He continued. “We may be stubborn as the day is long, but we’re normally right smart too. If somebody tells us something long enough, we finally see the truth of it."

We didn’t say anything for a while, but he eventually broke the silence.

He caught me off guard when he spoke again. No harshness, no condemnation. “I’m gonna see if I can reason with you just a hair bit. I reckon you don’t know how long you spent combing and drying your hair this morning?"

I knew where he was going. My reply was terse. “I’ve never timed myself, but probably less than ten minutes."

He couldn’t keep the triumph out of his voice. “Wrong! I timed you. You spent twenty-seven minutes, plus you’ve combed that nasty mess twelve more times since then. Now you’re going to have to go home and wash your hair again. That’ll be another twenty-seven minutes. That’s almost a whole hour out of your day. Believe me, I know life is short, and you’ll regret wasting all that time one day. Hell, if nothing else you could get another hour’s sleep every day."

He went silent again. He was quite casual when he said, “I’ve never spent more than two minutes on my hair."

“He shoots! He scores! Two points for Grandpa!"

“Boy, what the hell are you talking about?"

“Oops! Sorry Grandpa. That must be outside your frame of reference,"

“I don’t understand what that there ‘frame of reference’ means neither."

I started explaining basketball, and its scoring system. Grandpa cut me off. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about basketball. All I care about is that I just scored some points in this here game. I’m gonna win, I know it in my gut. Someday you’re gonna look like a decent human being!!"

“Sorry, Grandpa, but you ain’t...I mean you haven’t won the game, not by a long shot." I thought, “William, you’re going to have to be careful. You’re picking up on his way of speaking. You’re not from a 1940’s Arkansas farming community. That kind of grammar ain’t... UGH... isn’t going to cut it."

I thought for a second, and I said, “So, Grandpa, tell me more about yourself. I’ve heard a lot about your life, but I want to hear it from you."

“There ain’t much to tell. I worked hard all my life. I ain’t had much learning, but I did finish the fourth grade before I started in the fields. I was the first one in the family to learn to read. I’m still mighty proud of that. I can do sums in my head faster than most men can do it on paper."

He seemed to think for a minute. “Yes, sir. I worked hard all my life, but we had some mighty good times through the years. Life ain’t never wore me down enough that I couldn’t find something to laugh about. I reckon that’s something to be proud of."

“I’m proud of the fact that I ain’t ever wedged on a debt. If I owed a man something, I paid him. Things got mighty slim sometimes, and we didn’t have much more to eat than what we could grow, or what I could hunt or fish. I ain’t never owned much more than the clothes on my back and once I got a nice new tractor."

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as I was the day your father was able to buy that farm of his. I always dreamed about having a place of my own, and saved for years. By the time I finally got enough money put back, I was too old to take on a new farm, so I decided to not buy it, and leave a little money for my boys. Let me tell you, that was a tough decision to make, and I ain’t ashamed to say I cried when I decided. I ain’t never really regretted it, but at the same time I could kick myself in the ass for not doing it. I always felt a man should be able to own something of his own."

“Even though I’m ashamed of having not never owned a place of my own, let me tell you, I ain’t never been ashamed of my family. I’m right proud of all of them. They worked hard, and two of ‘em even finished high school. The proudest day of my life was when your Uncle Wayne got that there diploma of his. He was the first Thompson to ever graduate from senior high school."

We talked for a long time, and I learned a lot about my family. Grandpa finally left, but I couldn’t sleep. You see, talking to Grandpa brought back memories of Dad. I guess Grandpa had got me to thinking, and I started remembering Dad telling me about the haircuts he’d got as a kid. As much as I am able to, I’m going to attempt to relay the stories exactly as Dad told them to me.

Dad’s Story:

“Son, my daddy wasn’t mean, but he was strict. We did things one way- -his way. We laughed and cut up all the time, but we always showed him respect, and obeyed his rules. One of his rules was that every other Saturday morning we sat on the front porch and got a haircut. Pa didn’t care how hot or how cold it was, all four of us was getting a haircut."

He paused, and thought a second. Then he rubbed his head. “Ouch! My head hurts just thinking about those mornings on the porch. He had these old hand clippers, and I think they pulled more hair out than they cut."

I couldn’t wait until I got old enough to go to the barbershop. The barber, Mr. Cliffords, had electric clippers, and my friends told me they didn’t hurt none at all.

I was about twelve when I started working in the fields, and was making me some money of my own. One Friday afternoon, not long after I got paid the first time, Pa sent me to town to pick up something. For the first time, I got to drive into town by myself, and that made me feel mighty grown up.

I went to the drugstore first, and bought a pipe and some tobacco, and then headed to the barbershop, all by myself. I was excited as hell. I thought I looked mighty mature with the pipe in my mouth, and going to the barbershop by myself felt like a mighty adult thing to do.

I was thinking for the first time in my life I’d be able to tell someone how I wanted my hair to look, instead of getting what Pa wanted me to have. Boy, was I was wrong.

Mr. Cliffords put a black and white striped cape on me, and I thought that beat the hell out of the sheet Pa wrapped around our neck. Then he asked what I wanted, and I went through my spiel, telling Mr. Cliffords exactly how I wanted my hair to look. He listened and nodded while I was talking, and then he said, “You’re Mr. George Thompson’s son, aren’t you?"

I knew what that meant. My heart sank like a stone into my belly, and I got a big frog in my throat. I had to swallow a few times before I could say, “Yes, sir."

Mr. Cliffords growled at me. “I don't know what you’re thinking, trying to get me in trouble with Mr. George. What you just said ain’t gonna happen on my watch! I know how your Pa feels about haircuts, and you’re gonna get one just like he always does."

“But, sir, I’m paying for this haircut. I should be able to get what I want."

“I ain’t gonna have Mr. George come in here and give me hell about you walking out of here with long hair."

With them words, he turned the clippers on and took them way up high on the back, and started peeling me like an orange.

I shivered when them clippers touched my neck. Mr. Cliffords stopped. “Something wrong?"

“No, sir. I just ain’t never had anybody use electric clippers on me. I wasn’t expecting ‘em to vibrate like that. Honestly, it felt pretty good. Go ahead, finish it up."

He did. He took them sides quite a bit higher than Pa always did, and I know he cut a lot more off the top. I barely had any hair to comb by the time he got done with me. To add insult to injury, he took the straight razor and shaved the sides and back up high. At least Pa had never done that to me.

I walked out of there looking worse than if Pa’d just finished skinning me on the porch, but at least my head wasn’t hurting. My friends was right. Them electric clippers didn’t hurt none at all.

I hadn’t thought about it before going to see Mr. Cliffords, but on the way home, I got to thinking, “What’s Pa gonna say? Me getting a haircut from someone else might’ve hurt his feelings. After all, ain’t nobody ever cut my hair but Pa."

Well, I started feeling pretty bad about myself, and I fretted a lot. I finally figured the deed was done, and all I could do was pray to the good Lord that Pa wasn’t too upset- -and pray I did.

I’d also been wondering about how to tell Pa I’d bought the pipe. I finally decided telling him about that might make him less sensitive about me getting my hair cut by someone else. Right before I got home, I lit the pipe and headed to the barn where I knew Pa would be.

I should’ve knowed Pa wouldn’t be upset. He didn’t say nothing but, “Ol’ Man Cliffords did a good job on your hair. I’ll have to tell him the next time I see him."

I felt like a complete dumbass as soon as I said, “How’d you know Mr. Cliffords cut my hair?" I knowed that was stupid as soon as I said it, and kept going. “Don’t answer that, Pa. Mr. Cliffords is the only barber within about thirty miles, and I wasn’t gone long enough to get to another one."

Pa laughed. “That’s the way to use your brain. Now, let’s get these supplies unloaded, and get the chores done."

My first trip to a “real" barber wasn’t nothing like I’d expected, and I figured I’d wasted my fifteen cents. I went back to letting Pa cut my hair. Afterall, why pay the barber to get what Pa would give me for free- -especially when I wasn’t gonna get what I wanted anyway?

I did go back and see Mr. Cliffords later that year, but not to get a haircut. Since Pa was determined to cut our hair, I asked the barber about where to get a pair of electric shears. He ordered ‘em for me, and that was Pa’s Christmas present that year.

The first time he used them clippers, Pa kinda messed up our hair, ‘cause they was so much faster than the old-timey hand clippers, but I didn’t care too much. I figured a messed up haircut was better than a head that hurt because he’d pulled half of the hairs out.

[That ended the story of Dad’s first barbershop haircut, but later he told me another haircut story of his.]

I was about ten, and didn’t see no need for all them haircuts Pa was constantly making us get. I hated wasting my Saturday morning waiting for my turn. I took off that morning, and went to the woods. I spend all day out in the woods, not doing much at all.

Finally, my stomach told me it was supper time, and I headed home. I was a little scared, but I whistled all the way home, just trying to shore up my courage. By the time I got home, I had pretty much convinced myself that nothing too bad was gonna happen to me. I was pretty sure Pa’d just give me my haircut, and maybe a tongue lashing.

I walked in the house, and the smell of fried chicken made my belly start growling. Pa said, “Boy, where you been all day?"

“Just out in the woods."

“That ain’t right." He shook his head. “It ain’t right at all. Saturday morning is for haircuts, not traipsing about in the woods. Not only did you run out on your haircut, you left me and your brothers to handle all the chores. I reckon you owe all of us an apology’"

Ma spoke up. “Now, George, he’s just a boy. Don’t be too hard on him.’"

Pa wasn’t having none of it. He gave Ma a look that told her to butt out. “Don’t you ‘now, George’ me, Sally. The boy’s done messed up, and he’s gonna pay for it."

Then Pa looked at me. “Alvin, did you hear how your ma sounds? She sounds like a bull frog croaking because she was worried about you and spent most of the day standing at the door hollering for you. She’s just downright hoarse from all the yelling she’s done today, and I reckon her nerves is shot from all the worrying you caused her. As a matter of fact, I was a mite worried about you too. What have you got to say for yourself?"

I felt sick at my stomach, thinking about Ma worrying like that, but I couldn’t say a word. The tears started falling.

Pa kept on. “You know the rules, and you’re in for it. Finish up your supper, and meet me in the barn. I figure you deserve a few licks for this. I also reckon you’re going to have to muck out the barn before you hit the hay tonight, so you can say you did your fair share of the work around here today."

Well, hearing him say that took my appetite away from me. That fried chicken didn’t look so good any more, but I kept on eating, and then I headed to the barn- -walking as slow as I could.

Pa came out to the barn a few minutes later, and he gave me his usual yarn. “Boy, I don’t like having to do this, but you’ve gotta learn. Whipping your ass is harder on me than it is for you to take it."

Well, I didn’t really believe him, but I wasn’t gonna argue with him at that point. I reckoned that would just make things worse.

He pulled off his belt, and gave me five good licks. I guess I deserved ‘em, but it still didn’t make me like ‘em no more. Then he said, “Head on out to the porch, and have a seat. I’m gonna grab the clippers and I’ll meet you there."

Let me tell you, sitting on an old slat-back chair after Pa whacked me a few good ones wasn’t easy, but I sat.

I was scratching my head when Pa came out on the porch.

I guess he knowed what that meant, ‘cause he said, “Dear Lord Jesus. Please tell me you ain’t gone out toward Bayou Meto too?"

“Yes, sir. I did. I just followed the road a bit, and then I saw a snake, and chased it into the woods."

“Boy, you ain’t got the sense God gave a goose. Don’t you know them woods is filled with chiggers?"

[For those of you fortunate enough to not know what a chigger is, they’re a teeny-tiny bug that will cover your body- -thousands of them, and make you think you’re suffering the torment of the damned. The itch and pain can’t be described. If Hell is worse than chigger bites, I don’t want nothing to do with it.]

Pa took the comb and started parting my hair. He parted it several times, and finally said, “Holy, hell. Your scalp is completely red with chiggers. How the hell did you get chiggers in your scalp?"

“Pa, I know the answer to that one. After the snake got away, I sat down under a tree and took a nap. When I woke up, my cap had done fell off, and was laying on the ground. I imagine them there chiggers climbed in my cap while I was napping."

Pa had kept looking at my hair while I was talking. “That sounds about right. I’m gonna have to shave your head, so we can get rid of them."

Just hearing the word “chiggers" made my scalp itch worse, and for the first time I felt them on the rest of my body: feet, legs, arms, waist, belly button, armpits, groin…

Pa yelled in the house. “Sally, fill the bathtub up with hot water, and put about a gallon of bleach in it. This boy is plumb-dee eaten up with chiggers."

Then he said to me, “Don’t you go nowhere. I’ll be right back." He went back in, and came out with a hot towel, his straight razor and strop. My butt hurt a little bit worse at the sight of that strop. Pa hadn’t used it on me often, but I knew what it felt like on the backside, and it wasn’t pleasant.

Pa and Ma came out. “Alvin, hand me them clothes of yours. Your Ma’s gotta get them in some boiling water to kill them damned chiggers before they attack the rest of us."

“But Pa, the neighbors will see me nekkid!"

“I don’t care, give me the damned clothes."

As always, Ma came to my rescue. She handed me a pair of underwear. “Put these here drawers on, but as soon as you get undressed in the bathroom, I want you to toss ‘em out to me. They’ll probably be full of chiggers by then."

It was cold out there on the porch with no clothes on, but I dealt with it.

“Alvin, look at me son."

I looked up. He kept talking. “I want you to know I ain’t shaving your head because you skipped out on a haircut- -although I should. I’m only doing this because I don’t want all them chigger bites getting infected."

To be honest, I don’t think I even realized what he was saying- -and since then I’ve never been able to figure out what me having hair on my head had to do with them bites getting infected. I never questioned Pa though. He said it, and I believed him. Of course, I wasn’t thinking like that then. By that time, all I was thinking about was the itching, burning and stinging them damned chiggers was causing.

He wrapped that towel around my head, and left it for a few minutes- -and let me tell you, that heat didn’t make the chiggers happy. They started biting worse, and the itch was a torment.

Pa stropped the razor while he was waiting for the towel to do whatever it was supposed to do. Finally he took it off, and the cool air was a blessing. He stepped behind me, pulled my head back, and started shaving from my forehead back. I joked with him. “Hey, Pa. That razor don’t pull hair like them clippers or yours. How about we just keep my head shaved?"

“I expect your Ma would have something to say about. If you wanna shaved head, you’re gonna have to talk to her."

Anyhow, Pa completely shaved my head. As I remember it, I was itching so bad, it didn’t bother me at all that he was shaving my head. After he was done, he told me to get in the bathtub.

As I walked away, I wondered what he meant when I heard him say, “Holy hell. I wouldn’t want to face what that boy’s about to face. His ass is about to be set on fire."

I found out what Pa was talking about when I got in the water. Sweet Jesus, that bleach stung on all them bites! I thought the devil himself had come in that there bathroom to torment me. I don’t think them chigger bites could’ve burned any more if there’d been matches on every bite. The bleach worked though. Pretty soon the water was red with tiny little chiggers floating everywhere.

I was about to get out of the tub when Pa yelled in, “Boy, did you wash your head real good? We gotta make sure all them chiggers are gone."

The agony started all over again, and my head felt like it was on fire after I dunked it in the water. I got out of the tub and just stood there trying to catch my breath. Finally, the pain settled down. I wrapped a towel around me, and got ready to go face my brothers. I knowed they were out there waiting to start giving me the devil.

I guess Pa heard the bathroom door open, and he called me into the parlor. I was feeling a little weird, and I walked in and said, “Yes, sir?"

“Stand over there and let me have a look at you."

Well, I felt like some sort of circus freak, but I did what Pa said. He looked at me for what seemed a long time, and then he said, “Damn, Alvin. Sometimes I forget what a handsome boy you are. You look mighty fine. There ain’t many men who could pull off this look, but it looks good on you."

I was shocked! “Do you mean it, Pa?"

“Boy, have I ever lied to you, even to make you feel better?"

“No, sir."

“Well, I ain’t about to start now. I said you look mighty fine, and you look mighty fine."

Then he got up and came over and hugged me, and rubbed my head. For the first time, I felt a hand on my bald head, and it felt really strange, but really good. I knowed I had put soap on my head when I washed it, but all I can figure is that I was itching so bad I didn’t notice nothing. Feeling Pa’s hand on my head felt so nice I couldn’t help it. I reached up, and felt my head too.

I still ain’t figured out why, but the skin on the head feels different than the skin on the rest of your body. It feels good when it’s shaved. In fact, I’ve thought about shaving it again, just so I could feel it.

Anyhow, to finish my story.

After he hugged me, he said, “How about we go sit on the porch, and tell me about what you did today?"

“Why, Pa? I didn’t do much."

“Well, it’s been a mighty long time since this here farm’s let me have a day to just wander in the woods, and I want to hear about your day. Let’s head on out."

We sat and Pa put his arm on the back of the porch swing. It wasn’t exactly around me, but it was almost. Sitting there like that made me feel mighty good.

“Now, what’d you do today?"

“Well, I watched some squirrels play in the woods north of the Slythe place, and I saw a new family of deer down in Brewer Bottoms."

He grinned at me. “Don’t you be lying to me. You’ve done a sight more than watch some squirrels. I’ll bet you I can tell you lots of what you did today. First, I’d say you stayed away from the Dubert place. Am I right?"

“Yes, sir, but how’d you know that?’’

“You ain’t got no lipstick smeared on you, and ol’ Mrs. Dubert ain’t gonna let no handsome man get away with giving them a kiss, no matter how old or young they are."

I blushed bright red.

Pa kept on going. “All that berry juice that was on your face and shirt tells me you probably cleared out a patch over by Caney Creek. The fact that there was mud on your britches, and that they was wrinkled as hell tells me you went sliding into the creek. What’ve I done told you about that, and don’t you know that means more work for you ma? Now she’s gotta wash and iron those pants again before you can wear"

Knowing Pa, I decided to ‘fess up- -it was the best way to stay on Pa’s good side. He couldn’t stand a lie. “Yes, sir, and I’m sorry. I went to Caney Creek, but I honestly didn’t mean to go in. I was chasing a frog, and a big ol’ heron flew up and scared me. Somehow that skeered me, and made me slide down the bank, right into the water. That’s part of why I was gone so long. I was waiting for my clothes to dry out."

“I believe you, son. Let me tell you some more of what you did. Them pecans in your pocket tell me you’ve been over to ol’ man Hampton’s place. I should skin you alive. You know we don’t have nothing to do with them, and he’d probably have put a load of buckshot in your backside if he’d a seen you. What were you thinking?"

“Really, I didn’t go to ol’ man Hampton’s. I walked down to Widow Davidson’s and asked if I could have some of her pecans. I was getting mighty hungry. Them berries hadn’t filled me up very much. She gave me a chunk of cornbread too."

“Well, thanks for telling me the truth."

We talked some more, and then Pa said, “Get on out of here. I’ll be in there in a little while."

I started to go to the barn, and Pa asked where I was going.

“I’m heading out to muck out the barn, like you done said I had to."

“Well, I’ll be. You’re an honest one." Then he laughed. “Son, I think you’ve suffered enough tonight. What say you go on to bed, and you and I will stay home from church in the morning and do it. Ol’ Preacher Cooper won’t like it none at all, but I figure it’s a case of the ox being in the ditch."

That sounded just fine to me. I figured it killed two birds with one stone. I wouldn’t have to listen to one of Bro. Cooper’s boring old sermons, and I’d get out of having to explain what happened to my hair.

Pa made it even better. “If we get the chores done in time, I’ll have Sally pack a picnic basket, and make some ice cream. We can head down to the fishing hole, and spend the afternoon with our poles. What do ya think?"

I grinned with all my might.

He grinned back, and whispered. “Don’t tell Sally I said this, but wanna make a bet with me about which of you boys ‘accidently’ falls in the water?"

“What are we betting? If it’s good enough, I’ll make sure I fall in first, just to win!"

Pa laughed and swatted me on the butt. “All bets are off now. Forget I said anything." Then he got mighty serious. “Son, I don’t say it often enough, but I’m right proud of you, and you made me even prouder today. Sure, you messed up, but you ‘fessed up, and took responsibility for your actions." He gave me another hug, rubbed my head again, and then said, “Off to bed with you. See ya in the morning."

I was about to walk through the door, and I turned around to say good night, just as he was reaching in his overalls pocket to pull out a cigar. He looked at me for a second, and then I heard something I didn’t wanna hear. “Alvin, you don’t know nothing about a couple of cigars that’s missing out of my box, do you?"

I couldn’t say nothing but, “Uh...uh...oh…"

Pa laughed, and said, “That’s what I thought. Don’t worry about it. I just wondered. I was about your age when I first tried smoking. What did you think?"

I ignored his question. “How’d you know, Pa? Do you keep count?" (I wanted to know for the future.)

He smiled. “I didn’t know, until you went to stuttering and stammering, but I had my suspicions when you said you fell asleep under that tree. As far as I know, boys your age don’t take naps when they’re out exploring. You sat under the tree and smoked a cigar, didn’t you?"

I tried to say something, but my mouth just opened and closed like a fish.

“It’s ok, boy. I ain’t mad. I might be old, but I ain’t so old that I don’t remember what it’s like to be a boy. Truth be told, I did just about the same thing as you did when I was about your age. I ran off and spent the day in the woods, and I took a few cigars with me. All I’m asking of you is don’t lie- -and don’t steal. Them’s both bad habits to get into. If you wanna try another cigar, ask me, and we’ll talk about it."

“Pa, I’m sorry. I reckon Preacher Cooper would say I’m just full of the devil, but I really do try to be good."

“I know, son, and you are a good boy." He looked around. “Don’t be telling your ma I said this, cause I reckon she’d have me out in the barn with the razor strop if she heard me saying it, but sometimes I don’t think Preacher Cooper is as smart as he thinks he is. To my way of thinking, I reckon the good Lord put a certain amount of mischief in boys, and I suspect God has a reason for doing it. Don’t worry too much about getting into a little trouble. I figure Jesus was the only boy who never got his ass worn out by his pa."

Ma’s voice came out of the living room. “I heard that, George, and I reckon you're right." She kept talking, “Alvin, you’re a good boy, and I’m proud of ya."

Pa grinned. “Come on now, it’s time for you to hit the hay." We walked in the house, and Pa pointed his head to the bedroom and raised his voice. “Alvin, you listen to me. If those brothers of yours start giving you too much trouble about your hair, you have two choices. You can come tell me, and I’ll deal with ‘em, or you can beat the snot out ‘em, and I promise you there won’t be no trouble. I don’t care which way you handle it, but I won’t have them boys tormenting you."

Then he raised his voice even more. “Do you boys hear me? There ain’t gonna be no teasing about Alvin’s haircut. Do you understand?"

I could hear the disappointment in my brothers’ voices as they called out, “Yes, sir."

The next morning Pa and I got up and got all the chores done in plenty of time to go fishing, and I had been right. I was the first one to “slip" and fall in the water. Let me tell you, that cold water on my old bald head sure did feel good. I ain’t never forgot how it felt.

Pa shaved my head every day for about two weeks, just to make sure none of those bites got infected, and I had some folks tease me about my shaved head. They all assumed I had lice, ‘cause in those days, the only time a person got his head shaved was if he had lice.

I really liked the freedom of not having to keep my hair combed, and I talked Pa into just keeping my hair buzzed. He never shaved it again, but it was pretty damned close to shaved. A few months later all us kids were all sitting on the porch getting our haircuts, and Pa finished up with peeling my head, and I heard him kinda whisper, “I wonder…"

“I’m sorry, Pa. I don’t understand."

“Sorry, son. I ain’t talking to you. I had a thought, and was just thinking out loud. Now, go on, and get busy." Then he said, “Vernon, you’re next."

Vernon sat down, and without any warning, Pa took them clippers right down the middle of his hair. The clippers didn’t sound none too happy to be trying to go through Vernon’ thick hair.

Vernon was never the brightest one of the bunch, and he didn’t realize what was happening until Pa dumped a big wad of hair on the sheet he put around our necks. Then Vernon made a big mistake. He jumped up and yelled, “You bastard! What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Then he fell on the porch, crying. “Pa, I can understand cutting the other boys’ hair off. It’s just straight, and all it does is hang in their damned eyes. Why’d you have to cut off my curls?" [I can only imagine what Uncle Vernon was thinking. He was the only one of the boys with curly hair, and he was proud of it. He always looked like he spent his whole life combing his hair, and I think he used half a can of hairspray every day, trying to glue each hair in place.]

I thought, “Uh-oh, Vernon. You done stirred the hornets’ nest, and you’re in trouble."

Pa got more iron in his voice than I’d ever heard him have. “Boy, if you EVER cuss at me again, you’ll live to regret it, or you might not live to regret it. Now sit your ass down. It’s time to start picking cotton, and I ain’t got the time to give you all real haircuts. Doing it this way, I can do all four haircuts in the time it would take to do one. NOW SIT!"

Vernon sat- -and Pa took off the rest of Vernon’ curls off, moving his hands faster than I’d ever seen him cut.

About halfway through the haircut, Pa took the cigar out of his mouth and said, “Vernon, I guess I owe you an apology. I ain’t apologizing for the haircut, but I should’ve at least let you know what I was going to do. I reckon since I was wrong to do it, I can’t get onto you for being wrong, but don’t you ever cuss me again."

Pa looked at the other two boys. “Now, I don’t wanna hear from any of you. You know what’s coming now. I’m sorry I gotta do it, but I gotta this time. I’ll try to plan things out better next year, so I don’t get caught with my britches down again."

Then he smiled at them. “Once the cotton is in, we’ll go back to normal haircuts, but this is what it’s gonna be for the next month or so."

The rest of the boys let their hair grow back as soon as cotton season was over (or as much as Pa would let them), and as far as I know, they’ve never had it that short again. I kept mine short until I discovered girls, and learned that girls didn’t like boys with buzzed hair- -at least not girls in eastern Arkansas. I started letting my hair grow back out about then- -or least as much as Pa would let me.

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