


About every 6 weeks, my father would give me a dollar and send me to Dale Hill’s barbershop for a haircut. (A friend recently told me Dale Hill is still cutting hair in downtown Sherman…I thought he was an old man when I was a kid. I am 67, so that must mean he is well over 120 years of age! Simple math.) At any rate, Mr. Hill would give me the usual 5th grade 1960 buzz and send me on my way.
However, the day before Halloween, when I showed up for my haircut, I asked Mr. Hill to shave my head clean, al la Yul Brynner. He chuckled, thought I was kidding and changed the subject. I insisted and he asked if my parents knew of my plan. I had to admit they did not and he said there was no way he was shaving my head, without their permission.
OK…I left and went to another downtown barbershop. Same negative response. By the time I hit the 4th barbershop rejection, word had spread and got back to my father at his newspaper office. He saw me through a barbershop window, crooked his finger and called me out to the street. “What are you trying to do?” I explained I wanted to get my head shaved. He looked despondent and disgusted… shook his head and told me to give him his dollar back. He then directed me to come to the newspaper office after 6PM.
I showed up at 6, he took me to the sink outside the darkroom in the photography area of the newspaper, produced a safety razor, shaving cream and towel. He then shaved my head and took me home. My mother wept, gnashed her teeth and beseeched God to explain who I
was and why did I come into her life? I had to admit, I was not as dashing as I had hoped and instead of Yul Brynner, I looked like a child with cancer.
I went to school the next day (Halloween) and my teacher, Mrs. Francis Wheat Brown was equally horrified. She accused me of simply wanting to draw attention to myself and showoff…which was all true. My classmates looked at me curiously and asked why I did it. I honestly could not come up with a good reason…other than to show off and draw attention to myself.
When I got home my father was waiting and said he had an idea…let’s paint a face on the top of my bald dome for my trip out to homes for trick or treating. I loved it, he painted the face and took a photograph. The newspaper editor saw it and printed it on the front page of the paper. I was an immediate eccentric celebrity and while all the adults in Sherman hated the idea, I was popular with the pre-teens of town. Dale Hill put a copy of the newspaper clipping in his shop and told folks it cost him a dollar by turning down the job.
Here we are 57 years later, I am once again bald and my children want me to have another face painted on my head. I have wondered if perhaps my dad cut a bit too deep when he shaved my head and the follicles never really recovered, thereby explaining my existing, gleaming dome. I feel I was simply ahead of my time. Today, shaved heads are everywhere and it took the leadership of a 9 year old boy who “was wanting to draw attention to himself and show off” to lead the way with this fashion statement.
Paint the face! Paint the face! Everybody join in! Paint the face!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
Delete