When I was a boy, for as long as I could remember, my mother always cut my hair. She cut everyone’s hair in the family because it was cheaper than going to the barber. The only reason I remembered this is because I was looking at some of our old family pictures and my brothers and I all had bad haircuts for every single class picture. The only one who had a good haircut was my father, but that’s because he used to cut his own hair. He wouldn’t let my mother cut his hair. Anyway, my mother bought her own electric hair clipper with all the attachments and bragged about how it paid for itself after the first four haircuts. But my brothers and I were always unhappy with our haircuts. My sister lucked out because she got to grow her long since birth. But for my brothers and I, my mother would make us sit in a kitchen chair and clip our hair. If we moved, she would pull an ear or pull our hair. If necessary, she would also pinch us or give us a coscorón to the head. Corporal punishment was my mother’s most effective way of controlling us. However, the ultimate threat was, “If you keep moving, abuelita will cut your hair!” And we surely didn’t want that because abuelita was blind. Occasionally, we had bald spots on our head from flinching because we anticipated our mother’s phantom pinch or coscorón that never materialized. We dreaded whenever our hair reached our ears because we feared that impending haircut. When I became an altar boy, Sister Eva said I could only serve mass if I went to a professinal barber for a haircut. My mother was offended when I told her. But she gave in because she thought that if I was an altar boy, it would be easier for her to get to heaven.
Well, wouldn’t you know it. I married a Mexican beautician. So she always used to cut my hair. I liked the fact that I could get a haircut at home for free. When I started looking at the pictures from when I was married, I noticed that I always had a bad haircut. In fact, my wife had given me very many bad haircuts judging by all the pictures. And she was a professional, unlike my mother. But then I remembered how she was always the jealous type, so she probably cut my hair that way on purpose!
I haven’t had my haircut in six months now and I’ve been feeling kind of free. I feel my inner hippie coming out. I actually enjoy not getting haircuts! Especially when I think about all the bad haircuts and torture that I had to endure under my mother. I plan on holding off on my next haircut for as long as possible. My tía Jovita in Mexico suggested to me that I let my hair grow. And so I haven’t had a haircut since then. I enjoy the stares I get when people see me with my full head of disheveled, graying hair!