The Haircut Story Site

Won't back talk again. by frakme

My dad would always take me to the barber when I was little & I'd get whatever haircut he told the barber to give me. Usually, it was just your typical kid’s haircut with bangs. Never anything really short; but “proper”, using his words. I didn't particularly care for em, but it really was no big deal. I had the same haircut most kids my age had.

I had never been great in school, having been held back a few years, so that may have played into some of my rebelliousness.

By the time I reached junior high school in the 70s, he put the responsibility on me for getting haircuts. Despite some long arguments, he allowed me to let my hair grow so it covered my ears for the first time. He didn't like it one bit, but he was cool with it so long as I kept it clean. Every now and then he'd make a snide comment that he was having a hard time distinguishing me from my sister from the back. Whenever he'd read about hippy protesters, he'd often say all they need to snap some sense into them is to round em up can give em haircuts.

When I got to High School, I would spend a lot of time on my hair. Conditioning it and brushing it. I started to wear it like many other guys at the time, with a center part and feathered. I’d go to a Unisex salon and would have my hair styled by a really nice Korean lady. She came to know exactly how I liked it, and every time, she’d do her magic with the scissors, never using clippers. I hadn’t been to “an old man” barbershop for quite a while, preferring the trendier salon. Besides, barbershops seemed to only cut hair one way, and I thought they’d just butcher hair like mine with clippers. Nearly all my friends went to similar salons. The idea of going to a barbershop was just not in the cards.

After leaving the salon with my perfectly feathered hair one time, I decided to stop by friend's and play some pool. We played for a few hours then I remembered I was supposed to meet my dad at the house to help move some old furniture. I ran home as quickly as I could; my hair flowing away from my face. When I got there, dad had already moved the furniture with the help of our neighbor. My dad was livid about me being late. One thing led to another, and we seemed to be arguing over a lot of minor things. He complained about my room, this and that, and then started hammering in on me about my hair. I said something he didn't like (I think I cursed or something) and this look of pure anger came over his face as it turned this bright red. We just looked at each other eye to eye. I could tell his temper was rising to a new level. I thought, “Oh sh*t, he’s going to get the belt after me for sure.” Instead, he walked very deliberately over to the coffee table where he put his keys, grabbed them, grabbed me by the neck, and threw me into the car and off we went.

He said nothing as we drove. I asked him a few times where we were going, but he didn't even acknowledge me. His face was still red and he had a determined look on his face as he just looked ahead as we drove. He made a turn, and then drove into a parking spot. Imagine my shock when he pulled up in front of his barbershop.

“What the hell?”, I thought.

He got out of the car, not uttering a word, came over to my side, opened the door, and grabbed me by the arm. He walked me towards the barbershop where he opened the door and in we went.

The shop had two barbers; both busy with customers and a couple others waiting. He said “Hi” to one of the barbers, and then motioned me to have a seat in one of the waiting chairs. He sat down beside me.

I grabbed a magazine to read and began plotting how I would make a run for it. It would be hard since my dad was sitting right next to me and there was no clear shot of the door. I felt completely trapped.

I got rather absorbed in a comic and didn’t much notice the activity of the barbers. Perhaps they’d be too busy to get to me since it was already getting late. Maybe they’d say they couldn’t take anymore customers and we’d have to leave. I hoped. Then I heard the barber called out “Next!”. My dad looked at me with piercing eyes and said: “You’re up”.

I refused to get up. I just sat there ignoring him reading the magazine. He grabbed the magazine out of my hands, tossed it on the table, then grabbed me out of the seat by the back of my hair, walked me over to the barber chair, and said “Sit you’re a$$ in that chair” as he threw me in the chair.

I was about to get up when he shoved his finger in my chest and said: "You sit in that chair until I tell you to get up!"

The barber, trying to comfort me, put his hands on my shoulders and said: "So, how would you like it cut young man?"
Before I could utter a word, my dad blurted out: "I want all this long hair gone. Give him a respectable haircut”.

I blurted out “No! I don’t want a stupid haircut here.”

Like before, we looked at each other eye to eye. I could tell he wasn’t moved by my protest.

“On second thought, I think a high and tight like a marine would be more suitable on him”

“What?” I exclaimed. I couldn’t believe what he just said.

“Yea, I think a nice high and tight would do nicely.” he said, still not taking his eyes of me.

As I sat there, I could see my dad and the barber exchange glances in the mirror. The barber smiled and said "Ok dad. You’re the boss."

With that, the barber wrapped a tissue around my neck and secured a pinstripe cloth cape around me.

“Oh crap! This is really happening” I thought to myself.

It seemed like an eternity anticipating what was coming next while I could hear him moving things behind me at his counter. I was just sitting there feeling helpless, nowhere to, and all the while, my dad glaring back at me. His look was enough to instill fear to keep me from bolting out of that chair which is all I wanted to do.

I couldn't help hold back nearly crying. I felt a tear start to descend just as my dad said: "Just relax and take it like a man. It'll be over before you know it."

Then I heard them - the sound of electric hair clippers - the distinctive sound of those Oster clippers rattling to life. "Oh sh*t!" is all I could think about.

My dad stood there with his arms crossed; watching me as if poised to react if I showed any sign of trying to get up.

The barber placed a firm grip on my head thick head of hair and shoved my head down.

“Say goodbye to it” my dad said with a smurk.

I felt the clippers at the back of my head and I couldn't do a thing about it. I felt imprisoned - held there wrapped by the barber cape and my dad standing there as if standing guard. I couldn't see what the barber doing as my head was being shoved down and chin was pressing into my chest, but soon enough, I began to see long clumps of hair falling into my lap as the barber moved from the back to the sides of my head. The barber held a firm grip on my head throughout, and moved it in the direction he wanted. He tilted my head to the side and ran the clippers up and around the ear as mounds of hair fell onto the cape and slid down into my lap.

“Well, well, there are ears under all that hair” my dad said.

I could barely see much at this angle, but for the first time in along time, I could see in the mirror my ears exposed. The barber seemed to be taking delight in clearing the hair from covering my ears, as he tossed them off the clippers and onto the cape.

"Oh sh*t" again consumed my thoughts. There I sat, helpless as my dad still stood there enjoying every minute of it . All my hair, that I just got perfectly styled earlier in the day, was being clippered off while the other men in the shop got a nice show at my expense. I felt naked and vulnerable and there was no place to go. All I could do is, as my dad said, "just relax and take it like a man.”

The haircut seemed to go on forever. Just when I thought it was over, the barber took out another pair of clippers and went around the sides even shorter making them very high and tight. Finally he finished the top, trimming it off super flat.

All I wanted was for it to stop. Fighting back tears was very hard.

After dusting off the hair, the barber then smeared some kind of grease into the hair on top which made it stand up and was slick and shiny. He then went over the top with the clippers again. He finished up, dusted me off again, loosened the cape that was full of my hair, shook it off, and removed it from around me. I got up and saw all my hair in mounds on the floor. My dad paid, thanked him for "giving his son back", and we left.

The ride home was as quiet as the ride to the barbershop – my dad did not say a word.

When we arrived home, he told me to head straight to my room and he’d be up in a few minutes after I’ve had a few minutes to think about things.

I ran to the bathroom so I could see the damage. I couldn't believe how I looked. My hair had never been this short. I couldn't recognize myself in the mirror. The sides and back were pretty much shaved leaving only a shadow of stubble. The top was trimmed off so flat it looked like a laser cut it. I compared the new look to a picture I had taken just earlier that week with my cool hair. It was so severely short now. I couldn’t run my hands through it as I used to when it would just fall perfectly into place. The top now felt bristly an greasy from the wax the barber applied. I looked so ridiculous with my ears exposed like this.

As expected, within a half hour my dad came into my room. He already had his belt in hand. I knew what was coming next and these whacks were some of the hardest I every received.

Needless to say, I never backed talked again. He took me back to the barbershop every two weeks for couple months to get haircuts. Each time, he told
the barber it’ll be a high and tight.

After a couple months, without any arguments, he said I could grow it back if I agreed to do my jobs around the house and never to back talk him again. There was one other caveat: I was not to have long hair cover the ears or collar, and I was to wear it like an adult – no more center-parted feathered salon haircuts. It would be a regular side parted barbershop haircut tapered up in back and off the ears, or nothing. So, that’s what we agreed to.

Comments
I grew up in a military family. I got reminder spanking with a wet belt if I failed to comply with using my manners such as yes sir, no sir, yes ma’am, no ma’am.
by Jared on 28 Mar 2022
I decided that my boys will be getting summer buzz cuts. They are both trying to worm their way out of it but I am not changing my mind. My wife thinks I’m being to harsh but I am not going to budge on this. I’m tired of their tone of voice and disrespect they show me and their mother so a summer boot camp is what they need. Buzz cuts and military manners begin tonight. Will be leaving for the barbershop real soon. From now on it’s yes sir, no sir, yes ma’am, no ma’am. No exceptions to the rules. By the time school starts in August they will both be respectful young men.
by Colton on 16 Jun 2021
We had the napkin bib rule, too. Did not think much about it because it was a requirement for my brother and I. I eventually experienced humiliation when dining in a restaurant and some of my high school buddies teased me about having to wear a paper napkin tucked in my collar. My parents were very strict about manners, discipline, and table manners. I removed my napkin from my collar and got scolded in the restaurants and had to tuck it back in. I got grounded for disobeying when we got home.

by Colton B on 17 Jun 2020
My dad definitely buzzed my hair every Sunday morning before church. I pleaded for him to stop making me sport a military style buzz cut but I was not successful until I graduated from high school. Dad is a yes sir, no ma’am no-nonsense type. I always had to answer with yes sir or no sir or I’d receive a smack across my jaw. Actually I still address my parents with sirs and ma’am’s and I’m 24 now. Looking back none of my dads rules ever harmed me even though I did not like those rules growing up.
by Tony on 18 Feb 2020
Mas alla del respeto, del "si señor" o "si señora", el aseo y la higiene no tienen que verse como un castigo y dentro del aseo se cuentan los cortes de pelo.
Yo fui muy educado de niño sin embargo mis cortes de pelo eran drasticos.
Mi padre nos llevaba a la peluqueria a los tres hermanos y nos hacia pelar a maquinilla al triple 000.
Siempre acababamos llorando pero eso no era motivo para que el viejo peluquero tuviera misericordia con nosotros. Nos daba pelados brutales que se repetian cada dos meses.
Recuerdos.
by Mr Barber on 27 Feb 2019
Exactly the way my brother and I are being brought up. But always have a forced buzz cut or shaved bald if in trouble -really strict -still get the belt- What clothes to wear everyday still laid out. Always shirts buttoned up tight to the neck,khaki pants or shorts,,white tube socks always pulled up high with brown shoes- If a sweater is laid out it has to be tucked in with the collar out or popped-whatever he says.
by Dillon on 23 Sep 2018
I just read your story and it reminded me of how similar my childhood was. Dad was an air force pilot. If he thought I showed the saltiest disrespect, I received his belt on my rear end. This was usually followed by several slaps across my mouth before receiving a punishment haircut which was given on our front porch. The clippers were set on number 1 on the sides and back and number 2 on top. This was done in front of all the neighbors and my friends. I had to respond to his demands with yes sir and no sir. Actually, I had to begin or end every sentence with the word "sir" or "ma’am". The haircuts were given once a week or sometimes once every two weeks. Even when I went off to college, I would come home for holidays and was forced to sit there while he buzzed my hair off against my will. Once I graduated college, he never bothered me about my hair again.
by Tyler on 06 Mar 2018
I think this story is in fact non fiction and not all that uncommon during the 1970's. The dads of that time were WW11 vets. and wanted their sons to sport short miitary haircuts. Its interesting how much power and leverage dads had by making their sons go to a barbershop.
by Mark Skapeeni on 10 Feb 2018
I grew up in a yes sir, no maam family, too. Failing to use my sirs and ma’am’s resulted in punishment and or a spanking. I totally get the military neat freak stuff that gman mentioned above. My two brothers and I always had to tuck a paper napkin in our shirt collars during meals, too. Stains on shirts were a punishable offense. I think I had to do this well into my high school days. I know it works for keeping shirts clean but definately embarrassing ifor a teenager if you are out in public like at a restaurant. In a way, it would be cool if everyone did this as standard practice and that way no one would feel weird about it. Because actually it makes better sense than wearing a paper napkin in your lap. The splashes usually hit your shirt before they ever get to your lap.
by Keith Jordan on 11 Jan 2018
My dad always required me to say yes sir, no sir, yes ma’am, and no ma’am. He had no problem reminding me if I forgot or if I failed to respond correctly. The reminder usually involved a razor strap on my rear end and a hard slap across the face. to this day, I still answer my parents with yes sir, or no ma’am and I am 26 years old. I have a 4 year old son and I have taught him to say yes sir and yes ma’am. It never hurts to have polite children.
by Ryan Pearson on 28 Nov 2017
Forgetting to use my sirs and ma'ams always landed me in a heel of trouble. Besides being grounded and given a reminder spanking, I always ended up with a forced buzz cut to serve as a reminder that I better mind my manners. My dad would check in with my teachers at school just to see if I was remembering to answer them with yes sir, no sir or yes ma'am, no ma'am. This meant I not only had to use my sirs and ma'ams at home but all day in school as well.
by Jason on 10 Jul 2017
I gave both of my teen age sons military hair cuts yesterday. They were both acting up and were being disrespectful so I took matters into my own handss. I made them spread newspapers on the kitchen floor and I plopped two kitchen chairs side by side on top of the newspapers. I sat them both down before and tucked paper towels around their necks before putting capes on. They were both in tears as I set my clippers to #1 and proceeded to buzz their heads . Both boys very extremely upset with me, but perhaps they will learn their lesson and will show respect for authority. If not, I will have no problem shaving their heads bald the next time. I expect them to say yes sir, no sir, yes ma'am, and no ma'am to all adults without fail. I want their rooms cleaned on a daily basis. No more back talk either.
by Travis on 03 Jul 2017
My step dad married my mom when I was 14. He was big on discipline and manners and he insisted i say yes sir, no sir to him and yes ma'am and no ma'am to my mother. I did not want to comply at all. My real dad only required me to use yes sir and no sir if I was being scolded. My step dad insisted that I use sir and ma'am at all times with all adults. One day I refused by answering my step dad with a plain old yes. Next thing I knew is that he put me in the car and dragged me to the barber shop he went to and forced me to get a military high and tight hair cut. I had tears running down my face. If I had been respectful and used my sirs and maams all the time, I would have been able to keep my hair. I felt so screwed. From then on, I was good about using my sirs and ma'ams with my parents and all adults. My step dad said if I did not comply, the next step was a complete head shave which I knew I did not want. Now I am in my late 20's and I am teaching my 4 year old son to say yes sir and no sir to me.
by Jake on 27 Feb 2017
I had something very similar happen to me when I was 13. It all started when I refused to tuck my paper napkin in my collar during dinner. My dad is military and a neat freak. In order to keep our shirts clean and free of stains, my brothers and I were expected to protect our clothing by wearing a large paper napkin bib during meal times. This was humiliating in restaurants and more humiliating when we had guests for dinner. One night at the dinner table, my dad instructed me to tuck the paper napkin in my collar. I defiantly said, "No Sir". I explained that i was old enough to stop wearing my napkin like a bib and that I would spread my napkin across my lap instead. This did not go over well with my parents. Not only did I end up having to wear the paper napkin bib, but I received a military hair cut the next day after school just because of my defiant attitude.
by Todd on 02 Nov 2016
sorry guys but the boy was out of line-he should have had his head shaved bald and the boy was totally disrespectful to the barber
by gman on 21 Jan 2016
That Father is a terrible parent. Even if the author did something wrong, he should not have been striped of his identity like that.
by Anon on 08 Jan 2016
Whoa that was mean at the end-at least he could have let the kid grow it out again
by anon on 02 Jul 2013
he should have shaved his son bald
by Anon on 02 Jul 2013
The story is very strong: I felt the boy was almost "raped" by his father for a really minor offense. The harsh discipline by the father was obviously exaggerated!
The transformation description from long hair to no hair was GREAT: very detailed and even somehow sexy, as though the poor boy was stripped off all his lovely hair.
Very good story altogether!
by Cute boy on 02 Jul 2013