Southern Reflections – Getting a Haircut with my Brother
By: Dewayne Gore@2015 All Rights Reserved
When I was a young pup, about six or seven years old, I lived in a time commonly referred to as “Back in the Day”. In those days is was normal to get haircuts that left more scalp showing than hair. The most popular cuts of the day were the Flat Top or “Crew Cut”, and the most popular people sported those unique looks.
I had begged mother to allow me to get a Flat Top or Crew Cut for quite some time, but she would have none of it. “You are not getting your hair scalped like that, and I mean it!”, she’d say.
When I was in the second grade, we lived at Hope Mills, North Carolina for a spell, and by spell I mean until mother got ready to move back to the coast. My next older brother, Johnny, was almost ten years older than me, and already into his teen years. That, by chance, was the year Johnny turned sixteen and got his drivers license. It was a big deal for him, and for me as well. Him being able to drive opened up all kinds of opportunities for me, too.
Johnny fell in puppy love with this girl whose name I cannot remember, but she played the guitar, and it was her influence that sparked my interest in learning to play guitar. Apparently, Johnny had other interests in her. Using his newly acquired skill of driving the family car, Johnny soon spent less and less time at home, and more time driving thru town and blowing the car horn at pretty girls.
One thing mother didn’t like was long hair on her boys. Since Johnny was going to be using the car so much, this left less time for her to drive me to get a haircut, and Johnny’s hair was beginning to look more like kudzuu than hair.
Johnny asked to use the car after school one evening, and mother told him he could use it, but that he had to go get his hair cut, and he had to take me with him to get mine cut. I begged mother, “Can I get a Crew Cut, PLEASEMOTHERPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE???”.
“NO!” she answered, “And I mean it!”.
Johnny always walked on the edge, and that he was now driving only enhanced that fact. Backing out the driveway and pulling out onto the road, Johnny already has a plan formulated.
“If there’s a line, I’m going to drop you off at the Barber Shop. You get your hair cut, and I’m going to drive down the street for a few minutes and will get mine cut when I get back. You STAY THERE until I get back”.
“Ok”, I replied.
Johnny and I walked into the Barber Shop, there was, in fact, a line. Five or six older men sat and watched as two Barbers cut hair in chairs mounted in the center of the mirror-flanked room.
Smiling, Johnny told the Barber that I was his little brother, and to cut my hair and told me he would be back “shortly”, a term that I learned meant different things to different people. To Johnny, “Shortly” didn’t really mean “Shortly”, but rather meant that when he had procrastinated coming back until he was about to be in trouble, and then… only then… would he come back.
The line went quicker than I had surmised, mainly because most of them had already received their haircuts and were only there visiting with other men.
“Next!” called the Barber, loudly popping the white cape he soon placed over me to keep the hair from adorning my clothes. I hopped up into the chair, seated on a board that went from armrest to armest for us “little fellers”.
The Barber looked down at me and asked, “What’ll it be there, feller?”, making me feel as important as the grown men in the shop. I looked at the sign, and there were only three options; Regular Cut, Crew Cut, Flat Top.
I asked him, “Can I get a Crew Cut?”.
“Why, sure you can, if that’s what you want. Too many of these hippy types running around these days. I”m proud to see a young man wanting to get his hair cut properly”.
And he thus gave me a proper “Crew Cut”, which was pretty much what they did to me years later at Fort McClellan when I reported to Basic Training. It it was growing, he cut it off. He should have included a fourth option, “Shave it all Off”, because that’s what he did to me.
I gave him the dollar Johnny had left me, and took a seat on the sideline with the other men, and waited on Johnny to return.
After a while, I can’t remember how long it was, but it wasn’t “Shortly”, Johnny made his return. He walked into the shop, looked around, and asked the Barber, “Sir, did you see where my little brother went?”
The Barber pointed towards me and asked, “Ain’t that him?”
Johnny looked at me for a moment, and a flash of emotions, mostly panic, went across his face.
He said, “Oh my Lord, Mother is going to kill me!”
He grabbed me by the collar and herded me towards the car, fussing all the time at me or, perhaps himself, but fussing. I wasn’t really listening, because the mere mention of “Mother” snapped me back to reality and I knew she might just kill the BOTH of us.
Johnny drove around and around until the car was almost out of gas, then stopped and put a dollar’s worth in and drove some more in hopes of putting off facing Mother as long as possible.
When we finally had no choice than go home, Johnny made me wait outside while he went inside and got a toboggan for me to wear.
Unfortunately, it was dinner time and Mother didn’t allow anyone to wear hats or toboggans during dinner.
Johnny did everything in his power to keep Mother from seeing me and particularly my head. He even fixed a plate and took it to me in the bedroom and told me to stay in there. Mother was having none of it.
She called me into the dining room and told me to take the toboggan off. As I took it off, Mother’s face first recoiled, and then contorted. I don’t remember what it was that she screamed but it was directed towards Johnny. And then she was yelling at me, but I wasn’t taking notes.
Mother was hotter than a wet setting hen, and it was our fault. I do remember her asking me, “Didn’t I tell you not to get your hair scalped off??”
“Yes m’am!”, I cried. (Somewhere along the way I had started crying)
Mother grabbed me by the arm and delivered a well thought-out spanking to my backside, and took me by the arm into the bedroom where a full length mirror adorned a closet.
“YOU STAND HERE AND YOU LOOK AT YOURSELF UNTIL YOUR HAIR GROWS BACK!”, she scolded.
I’m not sure how long I stood there, but I do remember I was suprised how funny my head looked with no hair on it. Once mother had left the room, I started making faces at myself in the mirror, and stood there giggling. Finally, deciding I had stood there long enough, I laid down on the bed and took a nap.
But, that was the last time I ever got a Crew Cut after mother told me not to.
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