Month with Grandpa by STRICTSIR

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My parents had to leave for a month and my grandfather would take care of me for the whole month. My parents left early in the morning and my grandfather arrived 3 hours later. It was a Sunday in 1972 and I was 12 years old. Like many of my friends, I had long hair, which was fashionable at the time. My parents had no problem with my hair, I only went to the UNISEX barbershop for a small haircut. My grandfather didn't like my long hair and many times told my parents to get me a haircut. I was afraid that he would let me get a haircut when my parents weren't home. I was afraid of the words, classic barbershop.
My grandfather called me Dario, I forgot my shaving cream at home, you go to the barbershop and buy me one from the barber. I smiled and told him that it was Sunday and barbershops were closed. He told me that when he was walking from the train in the morning he saw a barber shop open near the station. I wondered what kind of barber shop it was. I realized that it was an old-fashioned barber shop, where they say the barber gives boys very short haircuts. Grandpa took out the phone book, leafed through it for a while, and then went to call. I believed that Grandpa wouldn't let himself into the barber shop on Sunday. But a short while later I heard him introduce himself and say that he needed shaving cream and would send his grandson Dario to get it. He also asked him if he would cut his grandson's hair when he got there. Grandpa listened for a while and then said Yes, a student haircut will be good, Dario is 12 years old. I wanted to get out of it, I was afraid of getting a haircut in an old-fashioned barber shop. Grandpa gave me money and said. You go to the train station, there is the Marschall barbershop, you buy me shaving cream and the barber will cut your hair. I was afraid that grandpa would want me to get a haircut, but I didn't expect it to be at the dreaded Marschall barbershop. And right on Sunday, after grandpa arrived, I wasn't expecting him.
Upon arriving at the Marschall barbershop, I was greeted by a 50-year-old, slim, short-haired barber. He pointed to the wooden waiting chairs, saying that he would attend to me when he felt like it. On the hanger, I noticed the jackets of students from a boarding school that was about 5 kilometers outside the city. They said that the regime there was very strict, like in a reform school and worse than in the army.
Two students were sitting on the waiting chairs, their hair was short, and I thought they were waiting for a friend. Another boy sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair, which was about 3 meters from the barber's chair. There was not even a mirror hanging on the wall in front of the chair. The boy had the same short hair as his friends on the waiting chairs. The barber wrapped the boy in a sheet and started cutting his short hair. In about 5 minutes, he was done with the boy. The boy shook the barber's hand and said Thank you Mr. Marschall for the haircut, took a broom and swept the short hair off the ground. The barber handed him a card and the boy left the barber's shop. Another boy was already sitting on the chair. He was also cut in 5 minutes and the whole process was repeated with the third boy.
What are you waiting for Dario, said the barber Marschall and pointed to the wooden chair. He took a powerful electric hair clipper, pushed my head forward. I felt the cold metal on my neck. The scissors made an unpleasant sound, rising from my neck all the way to the top of my head. My first hair fell into my lap. My throat and stomach tightened. I began to worry about how short my haircut would be. The barber continued cutting my hair, twisting my head as needed. Even though I straightened up for a moment, I didn't know how short my hair was when I wasn't in front of the mirror. I just hoped it wouldn't be that short. The barber took another pair of scissors, the ones he used to cut boarding school students. He tilted my head to the right, started cutting from my left cheek, across my temple bone, bent my ear, and continued around it all the way to the left side. He did the same on the right side of my head and later on the entire back of my head. The barber checked his work, made some more adjustments. It seemed to me that my head was somehow light. When I got up from the chair, I shook the barber's hand and said Thank you, Mr. Marschall, for the haircut, just like the boys before me did. I asked if I should sweep my hair too. The barber said That's your duty. I took a broom and a dustpan. It was quite a pile of hair. As I walked closer to the barber to get shaving foam for Grandpa and pay, I walked past the mirror. I didn't recognize the boy I saw in the mirror. I greeted him politely and left the barber's shop. Another boarding school student was already sitting on a wooden chair and several of them were already sitting on waiting chairs. Other boarding school students stood in front of the barber's shop. I tried to find my hair on my head and then rub the back of my head. One of the students noticed this and asked me if it was my first time at Marschall's barber shop on Sunday. I told him it was the first time in my life and I would never come here again.
The boys laughed. I asked why he didn't cut them in a barber's chair in front of a mirror, but instead sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair and there was no mirror on the wall. It was immediately explained to me So that the boys wouldn't be distracted by looking in the mirror and so that they wouldn't see their classmates in the waiting chairs if they were making fun of each other.
A student with a haircut came out of the barber's shop and ran towards the boarding school. To this the boy said to me You have exactly the same haircut as that student and as we will have in a moment. Today the barber cuts everyone the same 18 inch on the top of the head and the sides and back of the head with a 000000 extension, which is a very fine stubble of about 1250 inch. This is how your hair will grow in 3 weeks and he pointed to his head.
Fortunately, I didn't meet anyone on the way home. At home, my grandfather was delighted with my new haircut. I then locked myself in the bathroom and examined my scalp in detail in front of the mirror. No boys my age or in my neighborhood had such short hair.
The worst was at school. No one there understood my new hairstyle, not even those who went to the old-fashioned barbershops with short hair. No one believed that at the Marschall barbershop, on Sundays, all the boys would get only such a haircut.
My grandfather and I were in town and we saw Mr. Marschall sitting on a bench in front of the barbershop and enjoying the sun. My grandfather walked towards him to thank him for my haircut. Mr. Marschall was pleased that my grandfather was satisfied, so he called us to the barbershop. He took a card from the drawer, wrote Dario on it and the date of my haircut. Before he handed it to me, he said On Sundays, I only cut students from boarding school, but I also have 7 boys who like his student haircut. Of course, they have to wait for the girls to come to him on the waiting chairs. He said that students go for haircuts every 3 weeks. He handed me a card and said, you will be my new Sunday student. You can come alone and you don't have to call ahead to make an appointment. I warn you that it must not have been more than 6 weeks since your last haircut. Grandpa thanked me for that and we left the barbershop.
At home, I tried to beg Grandpa to never go to Marschall's barbershop on Sundays again. Grandpa just smiled and was silent.
I gradually forgot about the barber. On Sunday after breakfast, Grandpa said. Dario, it's time for you to go to Marschall's barbershop. Take the card and give me money for a haircut. I started crying, begging, promising, but Grandpa wouldn't let me and I had to go to the barber. Before leaving, I checked my short hair. I had about 12 inch of hair on the top of my head and about 38 on the sides and back of my head.
At the barbershop I met a student I had talked to three weeks ago. Boys in the barbershop are forbidden to talk so as not to disturb the barber, so the boy showed me how to snap his fingers like scissors and rubbed the back of his head.
After my parents returned, Grandpa boasted that he had found me a good barber and that now I looked like an intelligent student. He didn't ask my parents' opinion, he just announced from now on I'm taking Dario's haircuts into my own hands.

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