My daddy was a Staff Sergeant with the Army-Air Force In WWII. I think he brought a lot of military home with him. He had a Crewcut---maybe from birth!
He hated the idea of my hair being long. My awareness of this fact came at an early age.
"You go cut that hair, or I will!" Daddy told me when I was around 6-years-old.
I have that episodic memory of looking into the mirror in my momma's bedroom--probably crying--trying to cut my bangs. (Yes, I had bangs.) When I was finished, the grownups realized that I would not have a career as a barber. To add insult to injury, since my self-haircut was so bad, I had to go to the Barber Shop to get more cut off!
It was amazing how important the length of my hair was to Ronald and me! He wanted it short and I wanted it long. It was probably the biggest issue of our relationship when I was growing up, so I guess things could have been much worse.
Speaking of trips to the barber as a youngster: I distinctly remember the barber cutting the sides of my head and trying to make sure things were straight. He told me a joke.
"There was a man trying to build a table. He kept cutting a little off one leg, and a little off another leg--to get them straight. After awhile, there were no legs." Whawawa! I busted out crying!
My daddy had a car parts store called Automotive Supply. It was located on Main Street, and I spent much of my childhood there. I even had my first paying job for my daddy when I was 11 or 12. I was so proud to ride my bike to work and get $.75/hour. My first lesson in taking the initiative came with it. Ronald would give me a list of jobs to do. When I was finished, I would sit down.
Ronald, "Why are you sitting down?"
I told him, "I am finished with the list of jobs."
Ronald, "Well don't sit down! Find something to do. Dust the parts."
After a few moments of confusion--because it wasn't on the list--I got up and dusted.
Somewhere along the way, a few of Daddy's customers started giving me a hard time about my hair being too long. FOR REAL! It got to be so embarrassing that I rarely went to the store.
Of course there were the times that Daddy would get home and wonder if he locked the store.
"Son, will you ride up to the store with me. I want to make sure I locked the door."
"Yes sir." I was glad to ride up to the store with him. But in my young mind, I did not understand how he could forget to lock the door. Ha! I don't know about you, but it hit me early in my adult life to check doors that I was not sure I locked.
There was another very important demand, besides hair, that my daddy had for me--great grades in school. I think I made all A's, except twice from K-8th grade. Great grades did not come to me easily. I really had to study. I rarely missed school. It was not that big of a problem, besides having to be there so early, but I HATED homework! I wanted to play after school, not do more of the stuff I left at 3:15! I started hating school in the sixth grade! But I had extrinsic reasons to do well.
In the eighth grade, an event changed my life. Ronald had a heart attack! It was not lethal, but it changed his perspective. He never said another word to me about grades or hair. When I entered VHS in the ninth grade, my hair got long and my grades got short. I was a terrible student in High School! After a ninth grade that saw my hair as long as it ever was, I kept it cut to a respectable length the rest of High School--but NEVER short.
As I think back on my life, there are so many ironies! I will end Part Two with the irony of the hair. Within a couple of years of Ronald's death, I got my hair cut as short as could be done with scissors. Even more ironic, is my presently shaved head!
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