The Haircut Story Site

MY FATHER INTERVENTED FOR THE FIRST TIME by Gottlieb

I apologize, but English is not my native language. The English text of this true story is the result of the work of a translator.

MY FATHER INTERVENTED FOR THE FIRST TIME

When I was a little boy, my father had me cut very short. At that time, it was not common among my peers, most boys my age were allowed by their parents to wear their hair longer over their ears and on the back of their neck. Therefore, their haircut was not radical, it was basically just a minor cut and minor hair styling. At first, I didn't notice the differences much and even had the impression that my very short hairstyle was much better for me than the other boys' longer hair. However, when I entered school, I began to notice these differences more and also wanted to have longer hair to be the same as the others. But my father remained adamant, and for many years he strictly and fundamentally insisted on cutting my hair very short, which was not possible without endlessly running an electric clipper over the back of my head and around my ears. I didn't agree with such a brutal haircut, but at the same time I couldn't do anything about it. My father wouldn't allow anything else, and that wasn't even possible, because we usually went for regular haircuts together. So my father had it under complete control.

I first tried to rebel when I was nine years old, in the spring. It happened at the end of April, before I left for school in the countryside. That's when my father ordered me to go to the barber - alone, this time without his escort - and get a haircut. However, he didn't clearly emphasize to me that it should be short, very short as usual. So I sensed an opportunity - this time I would get a haircut the way I liked it, not so short. I thought that if I went to the barber at the last minute, my father wouldn't have a chance to change it when he got home, and I would go to school the next day, and my revolt would go smoothly and comfortably...

So the day before I left, I went to the barber's, where there weren't many people, and it was my turn soon. The barber asked me how he wanted to cut my hair, and I replied with satisfaction that I just wanted to cut it slightly, but really just enough so that my hair looked neat. The barber showed me how much he would cut my hair and after my approval, he did so. I was only minimally happy about using the electric clipper, so I was satisfied. My hair wasn't as long as my classmates', but it wasn't as short either, as was usual with my regular haircuts. After cleaning off any hair residue, unfastening the barber's sheet, and paying, the barber dismissed me and I set off on my way home in a good mood. I was happy how well my revolt had worked! I had no idea what awaited me at the end of this journey...

I was walking along the sidewalk contentedly, and I was already approaching home, when I saw a familiar car on the opposite side of the street and my father getting out of it. My legs felt heavy, my good mood suddenly disappeared, and I felt like I was about to take a dreaded exam. I knew that the next moments would not be pleasant. And they were not, at all! The moment of truth and return to reality had come. When my father saw me, he asked me when I was going to go to the barber to get a haircut. After my truthful confession that I was just returning from the barber, I had the impression that my father was about to have a heart attack. He did not care that we were standing on the street, and he turned my head to all possible angles. And amidst constant reproaches and lamentations, I heard: that this is not a haircut at all, that it is not short at all, that it is a waste of money, that I trusted me and sent me to the barber alone and I disappointed him greatly.... The stream of reproaches lasted for a very long time. But the worst thing was that he decided to take matters into his own hands and put my hairstyle in order, as he thought it was appropriate and proper. I knew that my further resistance was meaningless, and resignedly went back to the hairdresser with him. I was not feeling well at all, my legs were like jelly and my mood was at freezing point.

The worst part was at the hairdresser's, where my two classmates, who had been sent by their parents to have their longer hairstyles cut, had arrived. My father explained to the barber that he had never imagined my short haircut being this short, and that it was impossible for me to have what he called "long" hair. During his speech, I saw my waiting classmates laughing in amusement... I felt like an exotic. The barber said he had no problem cutting my hair, and that he would do it right away. I was given priority and had to sit in the chair I had gotten up from a few minutes ago and watch the inevitable disaster with resignation. The barber also told the waiting people that it would be quick. I saw him pick up the electric clipper, which I didn't want to see in my hair that day, put on one of the smaller attachments, and then it began. The machine began to eliminate my rebellion, the front hair was reduced without the use of a comb and scissors to a height of approximately one centimeter. Then, after replacing the attachment with a smaller one, the electric machine dug with immense vigor and efficiency into the hair on the right side near the ear and high above it, and after a short while it repeated the same on the left side. At a glance in the mirror, I saw only very short stubble on the trimmed sides with white skin showing through. Then the barber vigorously bent my head forward and with high strokes mercilessly cut my neck almost to the crown. I felt the vibrations of the blades biting into my hair, it seemed ruthless to me. When he finished this quick and drastic attack on my hair, he continued with the machine without the attachment, this time in the lower parts. Within a few minutes, I was completely rid of my slightly longer, already cut hair that day, which I had wanted to wear at school in the countryside. I didn't understand how it was possible without using classic scissors...

I felt completely impossible and terrible, I was terribly ashamed. Looking in the mirrors, I saw my classmates and other waiting people looking amused. I wasn't really surprised by them, this spectacle, at the end of which I presented myself to them with a drastically forced haircut, with a red face and especially very red ears, must have been very enjoyable for them. Especially when they knew that nothing like that would happen to them... The only satisfied person was my father. Right after I got up from the barber's chair, he started to examine my head from all possible angles again, with the great attention of everyone waiting, and I felt even more miserable than before. Then he praised the barber for, in his opinion, a perfect job. The barber became the next satisfied person, right after my father and amused classmates.

After arriving home, I rushed to the bathroom, where I began to examine my unwanted, drastically short haircut in detail, with my hands and looking into the angled mirrors. I discovered that I really like running my hands over very short hair, stubble and shaved skin! Although I was still ridiculed, made stupid jokes and insinuations at school for a long time, I eventually got used to it. After three weeks, I started to look forward to going to the barber with my father again.

Since then, I have become aware of my fetish for forcedly cutting my hair very short. How do you think
my next regular haircut turned out?

Write to me here, or at haircut@centrum.cz. I would love to read your opinions or similar experiences.

Comments