Moving by Jarino

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My name is Jasper. Like most boys my age, I had long hair. When I was 14, it was in 1975, we moved to a new town. I was still in school. We had to find a school to transfer to during the school year. Schools that had a good reputation did not want a new student. In the end, I was accepted into some boys' state school on the outskirts of town.
Before starting school, I was with my mother in a store, where she was going to buy me a uniform that the students of this school wore. I did not like this uniform at all and it was also made of thick gray unpleasant material. The pants were short and they were worn with gray long knee socks and black ankle boots. When I was wearing my complete uniform in the store, the salesperson packed my clothes in a bag that I had come to the store in. The salesman told my mother to take me to Mr. Brown's barbershop, which was about 100 meters from the uniform shop.
Upon arriving at the barbershop, we saw Mr. Brown in a barber chair reading a newspaper. The barbershop was an old-fashioned one with a few waiting chairs and a single barber chair with a mirror in front of it and a counter with a sink under it.
When Mr. Brown saw us, he asked if I was a new student at the school. My mother said yes, he would be starting on Monday. The barber ordered me in a stern voice to hang my jacket on a hanger and sit in an old-fashioned barber's red leather chair. The barber wrapped me in a large gray sheet and tied it tightly around my neck. He combed my long hair. I waited for him to ask me or my mother what kind of haircut he wanted.
The barber hung electric steel-bladed hair clippers from a hook, dropped a drop of oil, and tilted my head forward sharply. He placed the scissors on my neck and turned them on. I was startled by their noisy operation. I had never been cut with such scissors before. My haircuts in the old city were always just a small hair adjustment.
When I came to my senses, I saw my first cut hair, about 10 inches long, on the sheet in my lap. I was left in a panic. I felt unpleasant cramps in my stomach. My throat tightened. More cut hair was growing on the sheet. Then he started cutting hair on one side of my head, I noticed an ear without hair. Later he did the same on the other side of my head. When I had the opportunity to see myself in the mirror for a short moment, I had about 1/8 inch long hair on the sides. Only on the top of my head was there still long hair, about 11 inches long. The barber changed the blades on the scissors, dripped oil on them, and tilted my head back. All I could see was the ceiling of the barbershop. He placed the scissors on my forehead. He went over the entire top of my head. He repeated this motion several more times. The electric clippers turned off and I was able to look in the mirror again. There was only 3/8 inch of hair left on the top of my head. He combed my hair forward on top of my head and cut off my bangs. I could see almost my entire forehead. I thought that was the end of it, but I was wrong. Mr. Brown took the other electric scissors, which had fine blades, and began cutting the sideburns, then bent the ear and cut the short hair around the ear. He went to the other side of my head and did the same. He tilted his head forward and cut the remaining short hair from the neck quite high at the nape. The barber prepared a white foam and applied it to the sides and nape of the neck, where he had cut the short hair a moment earlier. When he scraped it off, about half of my skin was shining white above my ears. The barber cleaned off the remaining lather on my head, applied disinfectant to the shaved parts of my head, which stung unpleasantly, and applied an oily liquid to the top of my head and combed my short hair forward. Finally, I was free from the sheet and could jump out of the barber's chair. It was the worst haircut I've ever had. I ran my fingers and palms through the hair on the back of my head. It was horrible. About 2/3 of the back of my head I could feel clean-shaven skin.
Mother, asked Mr. Brown why he had cut my hair so short. He smiled and said. Now the boy is ready to start school. In the meantime, I was thinking that when my hair grew out in time, I would have to find a new barber.
The barber asked me my name and the year of my birth, but my throat was tight with anxiety and only made a hoarse sound. Mother answered for me: His name is Jasper and he was born in 1961. The barber made notes in his notebook and wrote out a gray card, similar to a school uniform. He handed me the card with the words. See you soon Jasper. Out of politeness, I managed to say: Thank you Mr. Brown.
Before we could leave, 6 boys in gray uniforms entered the barbershop. They greeted each other very loudly and respectfully. He told Mr. Brown to sit on the waiting chairs and one straight into his chair. The boys hung their jackets on the hanger. I heard one of the boys say, "This is going to be a new student," and he pointed to a large pile of long hair around the barber's chair. I could see that the boys had very short hair, not even touching their ears, and certainly no longer than 5/8 of an inch on the top of their heads.
The boy who had gone to sit in the barber's chair first handed over a gray card like mine to the table. I looked at my card: In the box was written the name: Jasper and next to it 1961.
Then there were several lines, and in the first was written the date. It was the date of my next visit to the barber's, exactly 14 days from now.
Barber, he said, to the boys who came to the barber's. This will be a new classmate in your class, and you will come to me for haircuts together.
My mother and I went to the station to return to the old town. I had to go to school there for 3 more days. On the way to the station we met a lot of long-haired boys like I had until recently, but they probably met some who had short haircuts like mine now.
Those were the worst 3 days of my life at the old school. I had never experienced so much ridicule and humiliation. They asked if I had escaped from prison or if I had been sheared with sheep and the like.
At the new school the boys didn't care about the length of their hair because each of them knew that every 14 days they would enter Mr. Brown's barbershop and leave with the same haircut. It was worse with the boys from other schools in the city, for them we were a little less valuable.
I had already been at school for about 4 months, but I was still nervous when I knew that I would have to go to Mr. Brown's barbershop with the boys from my class after school.

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