My Dad Hated Long Hair. Just relax and take it like a man. It'll be over before you know it.

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 kids haircut. I didn't partiuclarly like em, but really was no big deal.

By the time I reached highschool, he put the responcibility on me for getting haircuts. I had managed to grow it out over the ears for the first time. He didn't like it but was cool with it. As long as I kept it clean, it wasn't a major issue. Oh, every now and then he'd make a snide comment that he was having a hard time distinquishing 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.

There was one time we got into an argument over something minor, and he then started hammering in on me about my hair. I said something he didn't like (I think a cursed or something) and this look of dread came over his face. He grabbed his keys, grabbed me by the neck, and threw me in the car and off we went.  Imagine my shock when he pulled up in front of his barbershop. He walked me in by the arm and we waited. The shop had two barbers, both busy with customers and a couple others waiting. When it was my turn, I refused to get up. I just sat there ignoring him reading a 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 the the barber chair, and 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 something to the effect: "So, how would you like it cut young man?"  Before I could murmer a word, my dad blurted out: "I want this long hair gone. Give him a high and tight."  The barber smiled and just said "Ok dad", then wrapped a tissue around my neck and secured a pinstripe cloth cape around me. 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, all the while my dad glarring 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. All my dad could say is "Just relax and take it like a man. It'll be over before you know it."

Then I heard them - the sound of those clippers - the distinctive sound of those Oster clippers rattling to life. "Oh sh*t!"  is all I could think about. He placed a firm grip on my head and shoved my head down. 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 watch.   I couldn't see what the barber was doing as my head was being shoved down and chin 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. 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 comsumed my thoughts. There I sat, helpless and my dad still standing there enjoying every minute of it . All my hair 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 hight 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. Finally, he finished up, uncaped 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 went home. Needless to say, I never backed talked again. He took me back to the barbershop every two weeks for about 2 months to get a trim, then said I could grow it back if I agreed  to do my jobs around the house and never to back talk him again. I obeyed.

This is a real story as it happened to me as I remember it.
frakme frakme
46-50, M
Dec 5, 2012