A Bad Haircut --Jan, 15, 2023
Bad Haircuts,
Flynn Family Story Slingers
15 January 2023
by Cary Holmquist
The entire time I was growing up in rural north-central Montana, the only haircuts I ever received were from my cowboy-turned-farmer Grandpa Vance. I never heard how he became a hair cutter, but I suppose it had to do with being a cowboy on the ranges of central Montana, where he grew up. They wore real cowboy hats most of the time and leather wool and fur caps in the sub-zero, endless wind winters and so their hair was easiest to take care of if it was short—and so the cowboys accomplished it themselves with whatever passed as scissors.
Grandpa Vance’s right hand had been mangled in a hay-chopping mill before he was 30 years old and when I came to know him 30 years later, he had figured out how to hold a long comb between the hook-like fingers of his right hand while he wielded buzzing electric hair clippers in his left hand to deliver the haircuts to his grandsons. He had been practicing this for years with his sons and a few sons-in-law and probably a few nephews.
Have you ever seen a photograph of the famed western artist Charlie Russell? His haircut was the usual cowboy style that my Grandpa followed. It was not much more than the much-joked-about bowl-on-the-head haircuts, as if a bowl was placed upside down over the top of a guy’s head and then the clippers nearly shaved off any hair sticking out or under the rim of the bowl. And then, a full cowboy cut would include that hair above the bowl rim being shortened until it could be just combed over from the natural part on the side of the head.
This was my haircut for at least 17 years. It was simple and easy to care for with a comb and a little water. For a while it was quite the style to add hair dressing to it, such as Brylcreme Wildroot, or even a thin wax, to keep the cowlicks manageable or hold it all against the worst Chinook wind.
But I hated it.
First objection would be the administration of the haircut, which would come after a number of assessments during the week that my hair and my brothers’ hair was getting too long and the visit to Grandpa was arranged. (This was always on a Saturday afternoon.)
Then, a wooden kitchen chair was set up in the middle of Grandma’s kitchen and a tipsy overstuffed footstool was set up on the chair seat and I was perched on top of that and a large dish towel wrapped around my neck and held in place with a big safety pin. Then I would have to sit there still as could be, no matter how hot and sweaty I became under a bare light bulb that hung from Grandma’s kitchen ceiling. And Grandpa would limp around the set up, turning to keep himself untangled from the long electric cord that powered the clippers.
Grandpa limped because he had been critically injured in another farm machinery accident a few months after I was born and he basically had no right knee and he walked with a leg brace that replaced some of the function of his knee. That shortened him by several inches as he had to lean quite a bit while he stood and walked. Even so he still needed us school-aged boys to sit on a stool on a chair to be high enough for him to use the clippers on our hair.
And it was a very slow process. Even though Grandpa used electric clippers, it seemed as though he cut each and every hair individually—that’s how long it took for the job to get done.
The whole arrangement was uncomfortable for everyone. But it is something we did because we were vain about our conservative appearance and found this as a way to avoid other costs. My grandparents raised a family of six through the Great Depression and WWII, so this was another way they provided for themselves.
The other reason I hated it was my own insecure vanity. Also known as My Big Ears. They have always been big and stuck out and I was often addressed as Dumbo, Monkey-Ears, Bat Wings, Jug Head and sundry other insults. Having short hair cuts accentuated my ears, since they stuck out so much anyway.
And so that’s the way it was until I was 17 and then I refused to get my hair cut that way, by my grandfather, anymore. It was the 1970s and long hair for boys and men was becoming much more “in-style,” despite the reputation of “Hippies” that often went with it, especially in rural areas. Never mind that most of the famous cowboys and western characters like gun slingers and cavalry generals had long hair until electric clippers became generally available.
I had also discovered a way to cut my own hair with a razor comb device and mirror for the back and so kept that up for about two years, since I really was not interest in long locks as much as just long enough hair to fill in around my ears. No one seemed to care very much if it looked bad or was too hacked up, so I guess it worked most of the time.
Our story begins on a normal school day in Parowan, Utah. I was in the fifth grade. The details are supplied by the imagination of the author—who, by the way, is the protagonist and perhaps on some level an antagonist, but I get ahead of myself.
It all started at lunch time. After the usual drama of getting ready for and then getting to school, I learned that it was school picture day. Oh my goodness—MY HAIR!!! What to do, what to do? I went home for lunch and in the diplomatic way of a ten-year-old told my mom that I simply could NOT have my pictures taken the way I looked.
Lunch time was running out, I was frantic. Mom, being an attentive, inventive mom had a stroke of genius. Her human hair wig! Yes! Just the ticket.
With that installed on my head, I rushed back to school feeling like a really cool kid! I mean, who else gets to wear a wig.
I sat down in front of the camera; put on my best smile. The photographer came over to position my head just so and shrieked, “It’s a WIG!”
Humiliations galore.
I’m pretty sure someone picked up the chorus and the wig. A game of keep away ensued.
Not cool.
Haircut Gone Wrong
Jan 15, 2023
By: Carrie Keiser
The only time I can remember a haircut going awry, was in high school, I felt I needed a little trim and asked Ryanne to just take a couple of inches off. We combed out my hair and had it all nice and smoothed down. Standing in the bathroom with scissors in hand, Ryanne made a nice straight cut across my back. Now she did a great job getting it straight, the problem lay in that if one starts on either side and cuts right across, the middle of the hair will have gotten more than the desired 2 inches shorter. Because my hair often doesn’t grow evenly. The result was done nicely just that it was a bit of a shock to me to have lost 4-5 inches from the middle section of my hair. It was a lesson learned for both of us. I learned that if one says a couple of inches please, the operator of the scissors should begin in the middle and work her way to either side. Another thing I learned was always cut hair a little longer than the requested length, because you can always go shorter but once you make that cut, you’re committed to that particular length.
I have forgiven you, Ry!
Comments
Post a Comment