A Firmer Hand by Andrew Johnson

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Mr. Dale Sedgwick was quite satisfied with the life he led. Every morning he rose before his alarm, every day he taught American history to the next generation of leaders, and every evening he shared a pleasant meal with his wife, before every night he went soundly to sleep. He’d lived every day like this for thirty years, and he did not intend to change his routine any time soon. The only complicating factor arose in the day-portion of his life’s equilibrium. His students, eighth graders (the grade he’d taught since he began teaching and would be teaching until he retired), were losing focus faster, wasting more time than ever, and performing worse than they had in years. Mr. Sedgwick could trace these problems not to a wider cultural issue, but to a single student. A problem child, as was once said.
Zander Peek was a brat. He wore ratty little outfits to school and made ratty little faces at his teachers from behind his ratty brown hair. Unfortunately for Mr. Sedgwick, Zander was highly influential with his peers, a classic class clown type, one that could waste away whole periods if left unchecked. Furthermore, his uncle had long served as a district administrator, which had kept him out of the more serious consequences that likely would have been applied to him otherwise. He was a common enough issue that every teacher in the grade knew him well, even if they never had him in class. Mr. Sedgwick, however, did have Zander Peek in class, and things were growing more out of hand as each day passed.
The issue of Zander Peek finally came to a head on the eve of a very important test, during a review session. Mr. Sedgwick, while an older soul, cared deeply about making sure his students were involved in their scholarship, and if that meant turning review sessions into fun games to keep their attention, that was he’d do. They were playing paper basketball, tossing balled up papers into a wastebasket after each student answered a question correctly. But, a bizarre trend was emerging.
More often than not, the boys in the classroom were not landing their shots in the wastebasket, but instead on top of Mr. Sedgwick’s head. He had a case of classic of male pattern baldness that he’d accepted early in his twenties, but he kept the ring of grey, then black, hair that still grew around the sides and back of his head, as he thought it gave him a more dignified appearance. He had it trimmed regularly at a local barbershop, and on some occasions, polished his bald top to shine. Earlier that morning, he had indeed polished his head. And now the boys of the class were bouncing paper balls off the top of it. Mr. Sedgwick grew frustrated, but knew better than to lose his temper. He knew well enough that a rise was exactly what they were looking to get out of him, a rise that would surely distract from the review, which would surely distract from the test. Instead, he hatched a quick plan. He maintained his composure for the rest of the period, but stopped the last boy to exit the room before he walked out the door. He asked, without sounding angry, for fear the boy would shy, who had convinced them all to change the game, who had told them to aim for his head? The boy laughed, and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, handing it to his teacher. The paper read, "New game, aim for Sedgwick’s shiny dome, last person to hit it before he flips out gets ten bucks-Zander". Mr. Sedgwick smiled, keeping up his good natured facade, before letting the other boy leave. Then he expanded upon his plan. He sat at his desk, looked through his folder of parent contact paperwork, and made a call.

Mr. Sam Peek was not what a proper man of his age should be. As he walked into Mr. Sedgwick’s classroom for a scheduled parent-teacher conference, that much was immediately clear to the educator. Mr. Peek, no, Sam wore a college sweatshirt and basketball shorts, below his knees but above his sneakers. His brown hair was unkempt and disheveled, not nearly as badly as his son’s ratty nest, but not appropriate for a man of at least thirty. Mr. Sedgwick was very careful not to make assumptions regarding appearance, in case a student or parent’s financial situation preempted their ability to maintain themselves, but Mr. Sedgwick knew that the Peeks faced no such trial. In fact, he was in part aware of the large sum of money that had been left to Sam and his brother once their father had passed, along with shares of the local paper manufacturing plant. Money and class was not the issue here, the issue, Mr. Sedgwick figured, was a matter of discipline.
He had intentionally placed a small student’s chair/desk opposite his desk, an early tool by which to analyze Sam’s behaviors. Instead of asking for one of the larger chairs around the room, Sam crammed himself into the chair, the desk squeezing tightly against his stomach. Mr. Sedgwick made his observation, clearly the man, well, the boy, was a pushover. His son likely faced no consequences at home and thus thought it appropriate to misbehave at school. Mr. Sedgwick was a gardener by nature, and he knew the best way to address a difficultly in growth, was to treat the root. The root of Zander Peek sat before him at a child’s desk, and treatment need be severe.
"Samuel, may I call you Samuel?" Mr. Sedgwick started, hardly waiting for Sam to nod before continuing, "Samuel I’m afraid Zander is in a bit of trouble."
"Trouble?" Sam looked confused, "Zander is never in trouble, is something wrong?" Where some parents might be combative, Sam was genuinely concerned. It seemed entirely possible that he had no idea at all that Zander was a menace to the district, though how he remained ignorant to that universal fact, Mr. Sedgwick did not know. Still, the parent’s seeming innocence was something that could be used to address the problem as Mr. Sedgwick saw fit.
"Yes, I’m afraid he was the ringleader to a rather heinous prank. You see Samuel, today during test prep, some of the students were tossing sharpened pencils at me, as if they were throwing darts. I couldn’t understand why, until a brave samaritan gave me this piece of evidence." Mr. Sedgwick pulled out the note, which evidently did not contradict with the exaggerated version of the story he was telling.
"As you can see, this dangerous and potentially deadly act seems to have been organized by your son."
"That, that can’t be right…Zander has only ever been a nice boy…" Still Samuel’s disbelief was not malicious, merely confused.
"I’m so sorry Samuel, but this is only the most recent, though most dangerous, in a series of acts that, I fear, may even be considered insubordinate."
"Insubordinate?"
"Yes Samuel, insubordinate." Mr. Sedgwick eyed the younger man, who seemed near tears. To some extent, he pitied him. To be so blindsided by a person he clearly had great affection for must have been shocking. However, Mr. Sedgwick’s priorities lay elsewhere. He had a classroom to run, and he could see the answer to his problems sitting right in front of him. It only required a gentle hand.
"Samuel, this matter requires a rather firm hand. Unfortunately, I don’t have much more time to discuss it, I have an appointment I must keep with my barber. I will say, Zander’s actions may result in his suspension, or, perhaps, his expulsion." The thought of expulsion struck Sam with terror, written all over his face.
"Oh no, please Mr. Sedgwick, can’t we figure this out?"
"I’m afraid my barber is quite the taskmaster, if I’m late I may not be able to find another time this week to see him," Mr. Sedgwick went in for the kill, "If you’d like, you could certainly join me, and we could continue talking there."
"A barbershop…I haven’t…not since…" Sam seemed to be losing focus to his own thoughts.
"Poor Zander, he could wind up in a military school for the criminally insane if we’re not careful with our decisions right in this moment," Mr. Sedgwick added, perhaps painting with too broad a brush, though it got the point across. The words "military school" looked to send a shiver down Sam’s spine.
"I can come with you! Let me just grab my wallet out of the car-"
"I’m afraid there’s no time, come, ride with me and I’ll drop you back at the school when we’re finished." Sam relented even easier than Mr. Sedgwick had expected, and followed him dutifully to the back parking lot. Mr. Sedgwick began curious to the exact limits of Sam’s obedience, and thought to again test it. As they made it to the car, Sam moved to open the passenger side door, before Mr. Sedgwick interjected.
"I’m afraid you’ll have to ride in the back, if it’s not too much trouble." Sam’s hand dropped the door handle.
"No, of course not," he said, taking a seat in the back of the car. They pulled out of the staff parking lot and onto the road.
"What did you have in mind for Zander, Mr. Sedgwick?" Sam asked, his voice quiet from the back of the car.
"I’m sorry Samuel, I cannot talk and drive, we’ll continue at the barbershop." Another white lie, but Mr. Sedgwick had a plan in place that required their talk of Zander’s consequences to occur at the barbershop. They rode for a while longer, before pulling into a parking spot on the side of a street lined with rows of shops and offices. Mr. Sedgwick paid the meter, before heading towards the shop closest to the car, marked with a classic striped pole. Sam followed close behind like an eager duckling.

The barbershop was served by one barber, a young man named David who had inherited the shop from his father, named David, who had inherited the shop from his father, named David. Mr. Sedgwick had been a customer since the time of the original owner, but had built a strong connection with each successive owner. All the Davids were classic men, who believed in proper attire, and most of all in properly cut hair. David the Third had a dark blonde crew cut, the same haircut he’d had since he was a boy of four, only twenty-one years ago. He, like his forefathers, was what Mr. Sedgwick’s students would refer to as a butcher. He specialized in cuts for servicemen and first responders, and any boy below eighteen lucky enough to sit in his chair was likely to end up without enough hair to run a comb through. Mr. Sedgwick counted on this.
"Mr. Sedgwick! How have you been, sir?" the barber asked, though his eyes were trained on Sam’s brown mop.
"Quite well David, and this is our new friend Samuel Peek! He’s the son, pardon me, the father, of one of my students, and he asked to accompany me here whilst I get my hair cut."
"I’m afraid that won’t do," the barber said, "shop policy won’t allow it." He gestured at a sign behind Sam’s head hanging on the wall. It read "Adults: Business Casual-Children: Smart Casual".
"I’m afraid I wouldn’t even let you in here if you were a child."
"Oh David, I’m sorry to be such a bother, but our meeting is rather important," Mr. Sedgwick stage whispered as he continued, "his son is on a path to criminal delinquency." Sam was increasingly turning red, suddenly ashamed of his outfit, of his son, perhaps of his whole life. Mr. Sedgwick winked at the barber, who surely would have let a guest of a valued customer stay without remark, but Mr. Sedgwick needed a firmer hand. Therefore, he had called David earlier to ensure his plan would go off without a hitch.
"Alright, Mr. Peek can stay," Mr Sedgwick feigned a sigh of relief and Sam’s red face began to return to pink, "but I’ll at least have to take care of your hair, Mr. Peek."
Sam stammered for a moment, before Mr. Sedgwick stepped in.
"Well surely those are reasonable and fair terms, especially when your child’s future is at stake." Sam stammered more, but softer, as he was guided to the barber’s chair by the educator. Swiftly, a white cape was wrapped around his neck, and he was turned away from the mirror to face Mr. Sedgwick’s seat in the waiting area.
"So," David started talking as he began to wet and comb Sam’s hair, "what did the kid do?" Sam’s eyes were covered by strands of wet hair, and he still seemed at a loss for words, so Mr. Sedgwick answered.
"He put me and the rest of the class in quite a bit of danger. Had things carried on as they were, there may have been serious, fatal, disasters." David snipped Sam’s fringe high above his eyebrows, leaving him looking not unlike a dutch boy. He then grabbed his clippers, and chose an appropriate length of guard. Sam still seemed at a loss for a reaction, the whole scenario hitting him too hard.
"Well in that case, rigid discipline is necessary, isn’t it Mr. Sedgwick? I know that, in my line of work, you can’t go easy on a boy. A boy cannot be allowed to get out of line, even once, not a single strand of hair out of place, without facing the lash, although that is not so popular nowadays. I’m glad my father was strict with me, it made me a better boy, and a better man after that. If we were to let boys walk all over us, well there wouldn’t be a point in men at all, there would just be a bunch of sissies and babies." At that David plunged the clippers through the top of Sam’s head, leaving about an inch of hair. He reduced the sides and the back to about that same length, before working with a little more precision, tapering the sides and back to appear more gentlemanly. "Can you imagine, Mr. Sedgwick, what your class would be like if the boys were in charge, instead of the man?"
"Why, utter chaos David. I think you’re absolutely right, don’t you agree Samuel?"
"Yeah…can’t let boys take control…" Mr. Sedgwick smiled at Sam’s first coherent words in about five minutes.
"Which brings us back to the matter of young Zander. He simply must face severe discipline, or he may become so much worse, not just for me, but for other teachers, and of course for you, Mr. Peek." David continued to work, reducing the sides and back of Sam’s hair nearly to the skin, before placing the clippers down and returning his scissors and comb to his hands.
"Yeah…severe discipline…what did you have in mind Mr. Sedgwick?" Sam asked.
"If I may make a suggestion, you could bring him here Mr. Peek," David interjected, "the most direct way to correct a boy is through a proper haircut. If he doesn’t look the part of a gentleman, he won’t act the part." David thinned the hair on top of Sam’s head until it stood up straight, before cutting it down close to his scalp in the back, while combing it up in the front.
"I think that’s a fine idea David, how about it Mr. Peek, a fine haircut for what we can hope will be a fine young man. Surely it would be cheaper than a correctional facility."
"Yes, a haircut, that would be good for Zander." David worked some sharp smelling cream into the front of Sam’s hair, forming it to his preference.
"At the end of the day, it’s about control. Fathers must control their sons. My father ensured that I woke up in the morning at the appropriate time, that I had a proper diet, and that I looked and behaved properly. Any dissatisfaction and I found myself on his knee. There are lots of ways to raise a boy right, as long as you control him." As the barber spoke, he turned Sam to face the mirror, and his new image.
His shaggy brown mop had been replaced with a tightly shaped crew cut, with a bumper that rose slightly above his forehead. Sam palmed the back of his head, feeling where he had once had layers of hair, and now touching skin.
"So, it’s decided then. Zander will receive a haircut from David, and we’ll consider the matter resolved, assuming the correction takes. Of course, with your approval Mr. Peek." Mr. Sedgwick was nearly certain that his plan had worked, but it relied on Sam’s next words. Sam gazed at the mirror a little longer, lifting and dropping his eyebrows, before turning back towards the teacher.
"Yes, yes I think you’re right. David, when can I bring him in?"
"As soon as possible Mr. Peek. I close the shop at seven, which still gives you several hours to help your son."
"Right, Mr. Sedgwick, would you take me back to my car so I may bring Zander here immediately?"
"Absolutely, though of course it would be faster if we just picked him up with my car. Come!" Mr. Sedgwick let Sam lead him out of the shop, and he nodded at David. "We’ll be back momentarily."
As the walked to the car, Sam moved to sit in the back.
"Mr. Peek, sit in the front if you would." Sam opened the passenger side door and sat beside Mr. Sedgwick. They drove off, Sam guiding Mr. Sedgwick towards his home.

They came to a stop outside of a house so large it could almost be considered a mansion.
"I’ll be back in a minute," Sam said, walking briskly towards the front door. Mr. Sedgwick waited in the car, but not for long. Soon, out came Mr. Peek, dressed now in a blue polo with belted khakis, dragging his brat of a son by the arm to the car. He opened the back door, nearly tossed Zander into the backseat, and slammed the door shut.
"Mr. Sedgwick?" Zander said, stunned. The teacher didn’t dignify him with a response. Mr. Peek sat back down in the front seat.
"Ready to go Mr. Sedgwick?" he asked. The older man nodded, and took off down the road. From the car’s mirror, he looked back at the boy. His hair was not unlike how his father’s had been, though it was curlier, fluffier, like a poodle that had been pampered and groomed. He chuckled a little to himself. The boy had no idea what was coming. He kept trying to ask questions the entire drive, which Mr. Peek eventually put a stop after Mr. Sedgwick gave him a sideyed glance.
"Zander Horace Peek, one more word out of you and you’ll be grounded for a month!"Foolishly, the boy started to talk back.
"Three months now! Don’t test me again!"
Silently, they made their way back to the barbershop, but as they got out of the car, Zander noticed their destination.
"Oh no way am I getting butchered. I don’t know what’s going on in your head Dad, but I’m not going in there."
"You are if you ever want to leave the house again! March!" Zander moved to get back in the car, and in an instant, Mr. Peek had a fist in his son’s hair, and was dragging him screaming into the barbershop. Mr. Sedgwick wondered if perhaps things had gone too far. Alas, there was an important test tomorrow.

Inside, the chaos continued. David and Mr. Peek were wrestling Zander into the chair, as he continued to throw a fit, whining that he liked his hair, that it was the popular style, and other fiddle-faddle. None of the men in the room had time for his carrying on. Eventually, Mr. Peek had his son pinned against the chair, while David was nosing around for something under the counter. He came up with straps in his hands.
"I usually only use these for people with severe mental impairments, but you’ve given us a reason," David said.
"What the f*ck are you trying to do to me?" Zander cried out, raging even harder once he’d spotted the straps. The barber and father worked quickly, strapping the brat’s legs, arms, and neck tightly against the chair. Zander tried his best to continue thrashing, but found he could now do very little restrained. As a result, he moved onto the next step of grieving his hair: bargaining.
"Dad, please don’t make me cut my hair. Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me to be happy? I love my hair! Don’t do this to me!" The boy begged and pleaded, but to no avail.
"Zander, you have to understand, I’m doing this because I love you. You need to be controlled, and this is how we start," Mr. Peek explained, some of his softness from earlier reemerging. David had been at the shop’s sink for a minute, but returned with a bar of soap in his hand.
"Mr. Peek, I don’t mean to overstep, but I’m not sure if the boy’s foul language should be tolerated."
"You’re absolutely right David." Mr. Peek took the soap, and commanded his son to open his mouth. Zander refused, so his father yanked on a strand of his hair at the back of his head, eliciting a yelp from the bound boy. As the boy cried out, Mr. Peek shoved the bar of soap into his mouth, rubbing it against his teeth and tongue vigorously. The boy wailed, spitting and cursing even more. David produced a roll of duct tape, and they sealed his mouth shut. Now, there was some quiet in the shop, save for the boy’s whimpering.

"So, what should we do with this?" David asked, tugging at Zander’s hair.
"I’ve been thinking about that," Mr. Peek answered, "and I think I have an idea. Mr. Sedgwick, you said this all started because of that note, right, about him throwing things at your head. Well, why not come full circle? David, would you please cut my son’s hair to match his teacher’s?"
If Zander hadn’t already been crying, he would have broke down then.
"Mr Peek, I think that’s a wonderful idea. I rather like my hair, and I think he will too!" Mr. Sedgwick said, laughing jovially.
"Then it’s done, one boy-patterned baldness, coming right up!" David said, grabbing his clippers and peeling Zander’s head.
David worked quickly, reducing his whole mane to a half of an inch, a shadow of the fluffy curls that had been there only a moment ago, that now surrounded him on the floor and in his lap. From there, David brought the crown down even further with no guard on the clippers, raining tiny hairs down onto the sobbing, stifled boy.
Once the head had been mowed, David took a handful of shaving cream, rubbing it over the boy’s scalp. Using a razor, he carefully shaved the top of his head until not a trace of hair remained, but he left the sides and back still semi-hairy, like Mr. Sedgwick’s. From there, David polished the top of the boy’s head until it shined like Mr. Sedgwick’s had that morning. Zander was the spitting image of his father, save with shorter hair making him the spitting image of his teacher.

While his pride-streaked hair had been decimated, something broke inside of Zander. As he watched his hair being shaved into the style of a man five times his age, his cries stopped, his tears dammed. He couldn’t believe that this was happening to him, but something changed in his head, in the way he perceived the world. Zander Horace would be a perfect angel from now on, never stepping out of line, never arguing or complaining. He would never let something like this happen again. He must have deserved it, if something like this were to happen to him. He would have to be better.

When the men had noticed the boy’s relaxed state, they removed the restraints. Zander Horace rose hesitantly, gently, like a spooked animal. He turned around from the mirror he’d been staring into, at the faces of the men who’d inflicted this upon him. Then, he did something that surprised them.
"Thank you sirs, I feel better now. Father, may we go home, I have a great deal of studying to do before Mr. Sedgwick’s test tomorrow."
"We may, Mr. Sedgwick, would you mind taking us back to our car?"
"Not at all. David, thank you for all your help today, I’ll be seeing you for regular appointment tomorrow."
"Yes, thank you David, Mr. Peek said, palming the back of his head again. He placed his other hand on Zander Horace’s bald head. "Thank the barber son."
"Thank you sir."

From then on, Zander Horace was a model student. His hair never did grow back, but neither did Mr. Sedgwick’s, and he was just fine with that. After all, he was quite satisfied with the life he had. Zander Horace was to, though Zander never would be.

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