Daring your seventh grade buddies was a popular and revered experience. Prior to the first bell at Churchill Junior High School we played hardball every morning. A common dare on this discerning playing ground was to slide with your school clothes on. This dare was so common that it need not be spoken aloud. That is, if the opportunity to slide was available and a player chose not to capitalize on the situation they were considered a woose or a pussy… It was an automatic dare. Not to accept this challenge invited a round of hissing, boos, and general cussing. There were other common dares. An opportunity to “man up” in the arena of your peers. Blowing the powdered sugar off the top of the daily desert cake was most popular and did little damage. The antithesis of the powdered sugar cake was the peanut butter icing cake which was dared to be squashed into an unaware victim’s face. Getting the peanut butter out of your eyelids was a real challenge. I can remember one day this ritual getting out of control at our table and the lunch monitor, Mr. Desario, gave our entire table detention. The very next day there was a mimeographed memo read aloud in every homeroom concerning the Do’s and Don’ts in the cafeteria. Specifically it read, “Food particles should be eaten not thrown at other students, teachers, cafeteria help, or faculty in or about the lunchroom.” Memo’s needed to be very accurate in the seventh grade as if any area of consequence was omitted we would surly take advantage of it. The relationship between faculty and the student body was definitely adversarial. Their job was to teach and make good citizens out of us and our mission was to learn as little as possible while maintaining decent grades and not getting caught screwing up.
The only place prone to more dares was the boys’ locker room. This den of iniquity was the perfect setting for manhood dares. There were gym suits in some lockers that hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in seasons. Seventh grade boys were different from sixth graders as almost all seventh grade guys had started sprouting hair under their arms and genital areas and we were extremely proud on demonstrating this phenomenon to our classmates. We weren’t shy about becoming men we embraced it. Many sixth graders didn’t take showers as they were embarrassed to reveal that manhood hadn’t struck yet but not the case with the gorilla seventh graders. We had dares about how far from the urinal you could hit the target to hiding one another’s clothes when you were in the shower.
Keith, Larry and I created a daily dare which was the guy who dared to leave the showers last and would be the latest to class was the winner. He was bad, cool, a total disrespect for authority. A guy any seventh grader would admire. The vast majority of the other seventh graders in that class thought we were monarchs in the arena of locker room dares. We ruled! Medieval Kings could only wish for such loyal admonishment. What most of our loyal subjects didn’t know is that the class Larry, Keith and I had following PE was art, and the art room was directly on the other side of the girl’s locker room. So close we could spit and hit it! Art class wasn’t on the same level as the rest of your curriculum, especially to guys. There was something feminine about art in the seventh grade. An athletic viral kinda guy almost didn’t want to do well in art as some kind off proof of his masculinity. So we really didn’t care if we were late for art. So what! Your parents really wouldn’t get angry if you flunked art. After all it’s not an academic subject and they never had art when they were in school. A guy could just explain he didn’t have any talent for the subject and it would probably be accepted. A bad grade in art probably wouldn’t even ground you!
One day Larry introduced a new product to the showers. Something just being advertised on television called “Soapy”. Complete with a jingle, “Soapy soaps you clean with oceans full of fun… bubbly, bubbly, bubbly clean before you’re done!” Ah, leave it to modern science and seventh grade boys to muscle up some fun! It was not surprising that the three monarchs of dare were the last in the showers this particular day. As a matter of record we were so late the next gym glass had already began. “Soapy” was the first body shampoo directed at the hard to bathe market. It produced bubbles as big as your hand. Lottsa, lottsa bubbles. We were having oogles of fun with this stuff. So much so that we noticed the floor of the communal shower filling up with bubbles. Keith, the genius he was, came up with an idea to block the drains, leave the showers on and empty this “soapy” stuff onto the floor to surprise the next gym class when they came back into the locker room. Who were Larry and I to argue with genius? One for all and all for one! The daring monarchs emptied the bottle, clogged the drains, left the showers running and skedaddled out of there. Apparently the shower floor over flooded and the water and mounds of bubbles made its way onto the floor of the locker room. By lunchtime we had heard stories the soap bubbles were one to two feet high, up to the benches. They had to get the janitor in to clean it up! I thought for sure we’d have a memo read to us the next morning in homeroom but maybe since the faculty was trying to encourage the taking of showers following PE classes they optioned not to comment on the incident?
Larry, Keith and I would generally take turns in being the latest for class as that way we were all winners and no chickens, but sometime into that quarter Keith stopped being a winner and was making it to art class on time or just a little late. I felt it was because Keith really liked art. After all he had an undeniable gift for drawing cartoons. Don’t get me wrong we all enjoyed art class whether we liked art or not. Our art teacher, Ms. Marano, was just out of college and she had a body built for a Las Vegas show girl. Larry used to just sit there and try and draw her boobs. I liked helping her in the back room. Since I was the tallest she would always call on me to get stuff off the top shelves that she couldn’t reach. There was something exciting about being back there alone with her. Boy if art involved fantasies we were really learning! But in the seventh grade women, fantasies or art appreciation were not valid reasons for chickening out on a dare. Keith had to be taught a lesson so Larry and I conspired to leave the showers early one day and gave Keith the illusion he had won. Poor naïve Keith was wallowing in it as we were hiding all his clothes, and securing every unlocked locker as to make sure he had no opportunity to cloth himself. The late bell had not even rang as Larry and I were leaving the locker room. Keith’s last words to us were that we were pussies. Twenty minutes later Keith walked into art class dripping wet in nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist. The girls in the class were hysterical. I never thought he’d have the balls to do this. And so the legend was created, Keith Gucwa was the king of dares. He had bigger balls than anyone in the school let along the seventh grade. Every dare made in that school from that moment on would be compared to Keith’s magnificent achievement.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
BACK TO SCHOOL HAIR CUTS
Isn’t it peculiar how we remember some of our “wonder years” more vividly than others? The seventh grade was especially impressionable for me. Age 12 and 13 are a confusing time for boys… You’re not a boy anymore but neither are you a man. Your voice starts playing games with you usually at embarrassing times like chorus or an oral report. Hair starts spouting up in places it previously has not been cultivated. Girls have not become more important than your buddies or sports or even hanging out for that matter but you think about them a lot! I think what bothered me about this phenomenon was I was afraid this passion for women would eradicate my current contentment. Girls poised a great potential fear for guys like me!
The year was 1964. President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated the year before. I was saddened by this tragic event, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I felt that way or because my parents seemed so moved. The war in Vietnam was escalating under President Johnson and there were definite signs of rebellion in the United States. The word establishment was becoming a derogatory term. The English Invasion had started and Motown was dominating the music charts. The generation gap had started. Of course, none of these events really had much effect on the seventh grade at Churchill.
We were still innocent, uncorrupted! Although not completely naïve; completely idealistic. What a great age. Everything was still possible. Imagine the world if none of us progressed past the seventh grade.
Keith Gucwa was the kinda guy all other seventh grade guys envied. He had a natural muscular physique with great definition in his torso and arms. Dark hair, blue eyes and chiseled features… Ricky Nelson could have been his twin. Keith had a genuine talent for art as well. I can remember in the 5th grade at Central School we painted a mural together picturing the voyage of Christopher Columbus. I for the most part did it to get out of class but Keith was into it. He made sure the proportions were correct and shadows were on the proper side. He took pride in his work…I had fun! Like a stray cat Keith became more aloof the older he became. He seemed abstruse to most. Keith and I had most of the same classes in the seventh grade and we were both on the wrestling team.
Larry Burnett is another friend of mine that shared many of the same seventh grade classes. Larry is a sandy haired freckled face “Richie Cunningham” type guy. He was our best pitcher in little league. He’s a mother’s dream. The kinda kid that would always do the right thing. Larry is still a good friend. I just attended his surprise 40th birthday in Agura Hills California, 3000 miles from the neighborhood we grew up in. And what a great neighborhood for seventh grade boys. Lois Park in East Brunswick was a rural part of New Jersey dedicated mostly to farming in the 1950’s, but the never ending sprawl of the New York commuters invaded the farm land in search of the suburbs. However, in 1964 we still had much of the unspoiled farm land and wooded areas remaining. The neighborhood Keith, Larry and I grew up in bordered a wooded area (The Woods), Shaborderes Farm and a creek crawling with frogs, turtles, salamanders and snakes. A virtual paradise for seventh grade guys. We build more forts in those woods than the entire U. S. Calvary. We built tree forts, underground forts, and seven story urban forts. One night the gang decided to sleep out in our seven story triangular fort built between three trees. Each of us had his own apartment and a candle for lighting. What more could a seventh grade kid ask for? We even had some dirty books to look at! On hindsight the candles were not a good idea as Kevin knocked his over during the night and burned the entire fortress to the ground. The fire trucks had to drive through his yard to get to the fire and ran over all his mother’s prize roses. Boy did he catch hell for that. Back then East Brunswick was an abundance of track homes and blue collar workers but soon to be surrounded by the custom homes of the white collar New Yorkers in search of the burbs. The school district was considered one of the best in the state which attracted a lot of new residents to the area.
East Brunswick didn’t have a downtown area like most cities so there wasn’t really a central area to hang out. Rumor has it that a long time ago East Brunswick and South River were the same town and South River had a classical downtown with the Capital Movie Theater, a police station, a real old fashion candy store, a neighborhood hardware store and a genuine old barber shop. In seventh grade walking to South River and hanging out was awesome, cool, neat, it was happening! Sometime in September of 1964 right before school started Larry, Keith and I journeyed to South River intending to get our “back to school” haircuts and then generally hang out and check out what was happening…Maybe go to the candy store and stock up on pixie sticks, jaw breakers, or even shoe string liquor ice.
Somewhere between Keith’s house and the old barber shop we unanimously agreed that we would all get our heads buzzed. I can’t remember exactly whose idea it was or even how it came up or if that matters. We agreed. It was a done deal. You couldn’t back out now you’d be labeled a “chicken”. Trust me no guy in the seventh grade wanted to be called a chicken. So we were all doomed to be Paris Island look-a-likes! We strolled along Cranbury Road contemplating our doomed fate. I was walking with my head down trying to figure a manly way out and I couldn’t help noticing we all three had on the same black and white high top P. F. Flyers (standard issue for tough guys in the seventh grade). We were probably all thinking the same thing but dare not speak it out loud. We arrived at the old barber shop on the corner of Main and Old Bridge Turnpike and nervously stood outside awaiting the gallows. It was still early in the morning maybe around 9:00 AM. We decided to draw straws to determine the first victim. I felt like I was headed for the guillotine. I guess I wasn’t as it was Larry’s lucky day! I drew second and Keith was last. Just then the old barber approached the door from the inside, unlocked it and let us in. The shop was the epitome of the “Andy of Mayberry” barber shop. The sign read three chairs no waiting. There were lots of fishing magazines, plenty of Popular Mechanics, hair tonic that smelled like which hazel and a straight razor complete with the leather strap. They didn’t do hair styles, manicures, pedicures, coloring or blow drying, just old fashion haircuts. The kind that after your hair was cut the barber would lather around the top and back of your ears and shave your hair line. Then he’d dust ya off with that soft white, powered brush and slap on the witch hazel with some Brylcreem for the final touch. Ya kinda smelled like your Dad after he used the bathroom in the morning.
Anticipating the worst and with a big step of reluctance we entered the shop. We were his first customers that day. With all the authority we could muster Keith and I informed the scissor specialist that we would be in charge of Larry’s haircut and that he didn’t have any say in it. The old guy looked at Larry and asked him if this condition was acceptable to him. Like a soldier out of boot camp Larry reluctantly nodded his head in agreement. He was about to take orders from Keith and I. We had complete and supreme power over the barber’s craft in determining the length and style of Larry’s hair, something he would have to live with and explain for weeks maybe months. Oh the sheer (no pun intended) power in it! This was a bigger kick then I expected. In order to appreciate the metamorphosis one needs to know what Larry’s hair looked like before we commanded this assault. Picture a choirboy with fine sandy-red hair parted on the left and combed over on the right side with a little wave in the front. “Short” we barked! “We want his haircut very short. Shorter than a flat top. Shorter than a crew cut. We want him near bald!” Our laughter filled the shop. Compassion written all over his face the old barber stared into Larry’s eyes hoping for a sign of reluctance even delay, but Larry wasn’t backing down. Nobody was gonna call Larry Burnett a chicken! With a hand full of skepticism the barber clutched the shears and approached the back of Larry’s head. Keith and I were directly behind the barber guiding his every move and blocking the mirror so Larry couldn’t see what was happening to the back of his head. He started clipping large chunks of Larry’s hair and it began to fall to the floor. Larry’s head began looking like a forest with roads being cleared. It was so funny Keith and I could not hold back the laughter. The more he cut the more hysterical we became. Red hair was piling up on the floor as white skin patches began appearing on Larry’s head. Playing the barber’s guide dogs Keith and I continued to direct the scissors hand to cut and clip every hair in sight. By this time Larry’s eyes were wandering in every direction trying to get a glimpse of what was happening. Until now only the back of Larry’s head had been cleared but it was time to deal with the top and front. The barber turned and adjusted the chair in order to get a good position for the rest of the job. It was during this transition that Larry caught a glance of the damage. His face said it all! Keith and I were hysterical by now and the barber was threatening to throw us out if we didn’t behave. “Shorter we shouted.” In a defensive move Larry reminded us that we would get our turns in the chair. Although a sobering thought we really didn’t give a shit right now because we were having so much fun! “Cut it all off” we demanded! I don’t know if Sampson felt as bad as Larry looked in the next few minutes. He looked naked! It was horrible as red hair came off white skin and stubble appeared. There was a point where I was laughing so hard I was rolling on the floor holding my stomach. Again the barber ordered Keith and I out. He said if we didn’t stop he’d discontinue the haircut. We straightened up and commanded the half inch of hair left was too long and had to be removed. The barber rebutted that Larry didn’t have the right shaped head for this haircut. We reminded him we were in charge not him and to continue to cut it shorter. By this time Larry didn’t object as I guess he figured he looked so bad now what could possibly be worse and after all he would get his opportunity to get us. Finally with only stubble a two day beard could boast of Larry got up out of the chair. He looked so bad! I don’t think he could believe it. He didn’t look this bad in his baby pictures. Standing there looking in the mirror he had to be thinking, how many months will this take to recover and what will my parents say? Can I wear a baseball cap in school? As the old barber started to sweep up Larry’s dignity from the floor a smirk appeared on Larry’s face that said it all…. Time to get even! He had accepted his fate and could face it a lot easier knowing he had the company of his two buddies. Ha! Ha! Yours truly was next and as I mounted the chair the fun I was having drained from my body and cold reality was slapping my face. I didn’t care that Keith had influence over my haircut but Larry needed to get even. Revenge plagued the air. I was in deep shit! Larry had no doubt the barber would listen to his every command so with no remorse he ordered my head shaved! The old barber started clipping away and I could feel the weight of my hair falling on my shoulders. Larry and Keith were, of course, laughing their asses off. This was humiliating! I had to sit there and take it. The old barber must have had second thoughts when he was cutting the top of my hair…maybe he was concerned about what our parents would say to him…how could he explain his participation in such a juvenile act? Whatever second thoughts motivated him I don’t know, but I do appreciate them because he refused to cut my hair shorter than a flat top. Larry, of course, was not appreciative of this subordination. He demanded my hair be cut shorter, but to no avail the old barber had made up his mind. I quickly exited from the chair and Larry ordered Keith in the chair to take his licks. I was looking at myself in the mirror as the barber ascended onto Keith’s hair. Larry was right next to me and although I looked funny, next to Larry I looked good! The barber proceeded to cut Keith’s hair short in the back and on the sides but was leaving rather a lot of hair on top. Larry was insisting the top be cut shorter but the old barber wouldn’t listen to orders he’d done enough damage for one day. Larry was vicious! “That’s nothing more than a short haircut. You cut mine off and you’ll cut his off!” The old man wasn’t buying it. He had enough! He ordered us out of the shop. Larry was pissed! He was the only one that had no hair. I guess that’s the breaks of drawing the short straw. I can only imagine the thoughts that must have conjured up in Larry’s mind as he grabbed the shears and ran them up the back of Keith’s head. By the time the barber reacted and had secured the shears there was a path well into the middle of the top of Keith’s head. It was the sweet taste of revenge, and Larry got it! The old barber tried to doctor it up but even he couldn’t repair the stroke of vengeance. Keith looked like he had a stripe up the back of his head. We left the barber shop spent. We felt angry, stupid, and funny all at the same time. We knew we were stupid for doing this, but we couldn’t be angry at each other because we were in it together and as humiliating as it was, it was really fun to do. We made a pact one boring Saturday before the new school year to prove we were not chicken. Bonded by this event and out of fear of being alone in the next few weeks we traveled as a trio, the three musketeers or maybe the three stooges. Not many people could appreciate the humor of twelve year old boys, certainly not our parents or teachers. I guess you have to be there… in the seventh grade I mean.
The year was 1964. President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated the year before. I was saddened by this tragic event, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I felt that way or because my parents seemed so moved. The war in Vietnam was escalating under President Johnson and there were definite signs of rebellion in the United States. The word establishment was becoming a derogatory term. The English Invasion had started and Motown was dominating the music charts. The generation gap had started. Of course, none of these events really had much effect on the seventh grade at Churchill.
We were still innocent, uncorrupted! Although not completely naïve; completely idealistic. What a great age. Everything was still possible. Imagine the world if none of us progressed past the seventh grade.
Keith Gucwa was the kinda guy all other seventh grade guys envied. He had a natural muscular physique with great definition in his torso and arms. Dark hair, blue eyes and chiseled features… Ricky Nelson could have been his twin. Keith had a genuine talent for art as well. I can remember in the 5th grade at Central School we painted a mural together picturing the voyage of Christopher Columbus. I for the most part did it to get out of class but Keith was into it. He made sure the proportions were correct and shadows were on the proper side. He took pride in his work…I had fun! Like a stray cat Keith became more aloof the older he became. He seemed abstruse to most. Keith and I had most of the same classes in the seventh grade and we were both on the wrestling team.
Larry Burnett is another friend of mine that shared many of the same seventh grade classes. Larry is a sandy haired freckled face “Richie Cunningham” type guy. He was our best pitcher in little league. He’s a mother’s dream. The kinda kid that would always do the right thing. Larry is still a good friend. I just attended his surprise 40th birthday in Agura Hills California, 3000 miles from the neighborhood we grew up in. And what a great neighborhood for seventh grade boys. Lois Park in East Brunswick was a rural part of New Jersey dedicated mostly to farming in the 1950’s, but the never ending sprawl of the New York commuters invaded the farm land in search of the suburbs. However, in 1964 we still had much of the unspoiled farm land and wooded areas remaining. The neighborhood Keith, Larry and I grew up in bordered a wooded area (The Woods), Shaborderes Farm and a creek crawling with frogs, turtles, salamanders and snakes. A virtual paradise for seventh grade guys. We build more forts in those woods than the entire U. S. Calvary. We built tree forts, underground forts, and seven story urban forts. One night the gang decided to sleep out in our seven story triangular fort built between three trees. Each of us had his own apartment and a candle for lighting. What more could a seventh grade kid ask for? We even had some dirty books to look at! On hindsight the candles were not a good idea as Kevin knocked his over during the night and burned the entire fortress to the ground. The fire trucks had to drive through his yard to get to the fire and ran over all his mother’s prize roses. Boy did he catch hell for that. Back then East Brunswick was an abundance of track homes and blue collar workers but soon to be surrounded by the custom homes of the white collar New Yorkers in search of the burbs. The school district was considered one of the best in the state which attracted a lot of new residents to the area.
East Brunswick didn’t have a downtown area like most cities so there wasn’t really a central area to hang out. Rumor has it that a long time ago East Brunswick and South River were the same town and South River had a classical downtown with the Capital Movie Theater, a police station, a real old fashion candy store, a neighborhood hardware store and a genuine old barber shop. In seventh grade walking to South River and hanging out was awesome, cool, neat, it was happening! Sometime in September of 1964 right before school started Larry, Keith and I journeyed to South River intending to get our “back to school” haircuts and then generally hang out and check out what was happening…Maybe go to the candy store and stock up on pixie sticks, jaw breakers, or even shoe string liquor ice.
Somewhere between Keith’s house and the old barber shop we unanimously agreed that we would all get our heads buzzed. I can’t remember exactly whose idea it was or even how it came up or if that matters. We agreed. It was a done deal. You couldn’t back out now you’d be labeled a “chicken”. Trust me no guy in the seventh grade wanted to be called a chicken. So we were all doomed to be Paris Island look-a-likes! We strolled along Cranbury Road contemplating our doomed fate. I was walking with my head down trying to figure a manly way out and I couldn’t help noticing we all three had on the same black and white high top P. F. Flyers (standard issue for tough guys in the seventh grade). We were probably all thinking the same thing but dare not speak it out loud. We arrived at the old barber shop on the corner of Main and Old Bridge Turnpike and nervously stood outside awaiting the gallows. It was still early in the morning maybe around 9:00 AM. We decided to draw straws to determine the first victim. I felt like I was headed for the guillotine. I guess I wasn’t as it was Larry’s lucky day! I drew second and Keith was last. Just then the old barber approached the door from the inside, unlocked it and let us in. The shop was the epitome of the “Andy of Mayberry” barber shop. The sign read three chairs no waiting. There were lots of fishing magazines, plenty of Popular Mechanics, hair tonic that smelled like which hazel and a straight razor complete with the leather strap. They didn’t do hair styles, manicures, pedicures, coloring or blow drying, just old fashion haircuts. The kind that after your hair was cut the barber would lather around the top and back of your ears and shave your hair line. Then he’d dust ya off with that soft white, powered brush and slap on the witch hazel with some Brylcreem for the final touch. Ya kinda smelled like your Dad after he used the bathroom in the morning.
Anticipating the worst and with a big step of reluctance we entered the shop. We were his first customers that day. With all the authority we could muster Keith and I informed the scissor specialist that we would be in charge of Larry’s haircut and that he didn’t have any say in it. The old guy looked at Larry and asked him if this condition was acceptable to him. Like a soldier out of boot camp Larry reluctantly nodded his head in agreement. He was about to take orders from Keith and I. We had complete and supreme power over the barber’s craft in determining the length and style of Larry’s hair, something he would have to live with and explain for weeks maybe months. Oh the sheer (no pun intended) power in it! This was a bigger kick then I expected. In order to appreciate the metamorphosis one needs to know what Larry’s hair looked like before we commanded this assault. Picture a choirboy with fine sandy-red hair parted on the left and combed over on the right side with a little wave in the front. “Short” we barked! “We want his haircut very short. Shorter than a flat top. Shorter than a crew cut. We want him near bald!” Our laughter filled the shop. Compassion written all over his face the old barber stared into Larry’s eyes hoping for a sign of reluctance even delay, but Larry wasn’t backing down. Nobody was gonna call Larry Burnett a chicken! With a hand full of skepticism the barber clutched the shears and approached the back of Larry’s head. Keith and I were directly behind the barber guiding his every move and blocking the mirror so Larry couldn’t see what was happening to the back of his head. He started clipping large chunks of Larry’s hair and it began to fall to the floor. Larry’s head began looking like a forest with roads being cleared. It was so funny Keith and I could not hold back the laughter. The more he cut the more hysterical we became. Red hair was piling up on the floor as white skin patches began appearing on Larry’s head. Playing the barber’s guide dogs Keith and I continued to direct the scissors hand to cut and clip every hair in sight. By this time Larry’s eyes were wandering in every direction trying to get a glimpse of what was happening. Until now only the back of Larry’s head had been cleared but it was time to deal with the top and front. The barber turned and adjusted the chair in order to get a good position for the rest of the job. It was during this transition that Larry caught a glance of the damage. His face said it all! Keith and I were hysterical by now and the barber was threatening to throw us out if we didn’t behave. “Shorter we shouted.” In a defensive move Larry reminded us that we would get our turns in the chair. Although a sobering thought we really didn’t give a shit right now because we were having so much fun! “Cut it all off” we demanded! I don’t know if Sampson felt as bad as Larry looked in the next few minutes. He looked naked! It was horrible as red hair came off white skin and stubble appeared. There was a point where I was laughing so hard I was rolling on the floor holding my stomach. Again the barber ordered Keith and I out. He said if we didn’t stop he’d discontinue the haircut. We straightened up and commanded the half inch of hair left was too long and had to be removed. The barber rebutted that Larry didn’t have the right shaped head for this haircut. We reminded him we were in charge not him and to continue to cut it shorter. By this time Larry didn’t object as I guess he figured he looked so bad now what could possibly be worse and after all he would get his opportunity to get us. Finally with only stubble a two day beard could boast of Larry got up out of the chair. He looked so bad! I don’t think he could believe it. He didn’t look this bad in his baby pictures. Standing there looking in the mirror he had to be thinking, how many months will this take to recover and what will my parents say? Can I wear a baseball cap in school? As the old barber started to sweep up Larry’s dignity from the floor a smirk appeared on Larry’s face that said it all…. Time to get even! He had accepted his fate and could face it a lot easier knowing he had the company of his two buddies. Ha! Ha! Yours truly was next and as I mounted the chair the fun I was having drained from my body and cold reality was slapping my face. I didn’t care that Keith had influence over my haircut but Larry needed to get even. Revenge plagued the air. I was in deep shit! Larry had no doubt the barber would listen to his every command so with no remorse he ordered my head shaved! The old barber started clipping away and I could feel the weight of my hair falling on my shoulders. Larry and Keith were, of course, laughing their asses off. This was humiliating! I had to sit there and take it. The old barber must have had second thoughts when he was cutting the top of my hair…maybe he was concerned about what our parents would say to him…how could he explain his participation in such a juvenile act? Whatever second thoughts motivated him I don’t know, but I do appreciate them because he refused to cut my hair shorter than a flat top. Larry, of course, was not appreciative of this subordination. He demanded my hair be cut shorter, but to no avail the old barber had made up his mind. I quickly exited from the chair and Larry ordered Keith in the chair to take his licks. I was looking at myself in the mirror as the barber ascended onto Keith’s hair. Larry was right next to me and although I looked funny, next to Larry I looked good! The barber proceeded to cut Keith’s hair short in the back and on the sides but was leaving rather a lot of hair on top. Larry was insisting the top be cut shorter but the old barber wouldn’t listen to orders he’d done enough damage for one day. Larry was vicious! “That’s nothing more than a short haircut. You cut mine off and you’ll cut his off!” The old man wasn’t buying it. He had enough! He ordered us out of the shop. Larry was pissed! He was the only one that had no hair. I guess that’s the breaks of drawing the short straw. I can only imagine the thoughts that must have conjured up in Larry’s mind as he grabbed the shears and ran them up the back of Keith’s head. By the time the barber reacted and had secured the shears there was a path well into the middle of the top of Keith’s head. It was the sweet taste of revenge, and Larry got it! The old barber tried to doctor it up but even he couldn’t repair the stroke of vengeance. Keith looked like he had a stripe up the back of his head. We left the barber shop spent. We felt angry, stupid, and funny all at the same time. We knew we were stupid for doing this, but we couldn’t be angry at each other because we were in it together and as humiliating as it was, it was really fun to do. We made a pact one boring Saturday before the new school year to prove we were not chicken. Bonded by this event and out of fear of being alone in the next few weeks we traveled as a trio, the three musketeers or maybe the three stooges. Not many people could appreciate the humor of twelve year old boys, certainly not our parents or teachers. I guess you have to be there… in the seventh grade I mean.
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