I was in the fifth grade, my brother the sixth. We both had short butch haircuts. We hated them. Our dad made us. It was the early '70s.
Nobody else had them. Some got summer butches but they were farm boys. I loved the last week of school when they'd show up, hair sheared off in a short butch. White heads that were not tan. Some boys were clipper shaved bald. I loved them being embarrassed instead of me.
The summer was near and we asked if we could let our hair grow out. Dad said we could try it in the fall. We'd still have to get summer butches.
It was the last week of school. We went downtown. Dad told the barber extra short butches for the summer. We got skinned down good and had to go to school like this.
After six skinhead cuts during the summer we grew our hair out into shaggy butches. It was time for long hair.
Dad said it was haircut time. We went to the barbershop and went in. I climbed into the empty chair and was caped. The barber spritzed my hair and ran a comb through it. I expected he would just cut around the edges. He said, "Another butch, right?" Before I could say anything dad said, "Is there enough hair for a flattop?" WHAT? You said I could grow my hair out" Dad says, "A flattop is longer". The barber said it would be real short. Dad said, "Cut it." Before I could say more a no blade clipper was turned on. It clipped up the back clear up to the crown. Same on the sides. The hair was raining down. I didn't think I had that much hair.
My brother was watching and freaking out. KrewComb was massaged into the hair on top. The hair was stood up the best it could be. He took a comb and the clippers, lifted the hair with the comb and zipped off the hair on top. He worked carefully from back to front. I could see in the mirror across the room the short flattop taking shape. He put the comb at an angle on the sides and zipped that off. Then he took the clippers and ran them down the middle of my head, two inches behind my fringe. He cut way back to the crown, joining the sheared hair on the back.
He applied a lot of butchwax to my hair and stood it straight up with a brush. He then took the bare clipper blades to the inside of the top of my head. He kept cutting out a round area, over and over, bigger and bigger.
Then he brushed it up again and free handed with the clippers from front to back, over and over. He was especially careful with the front. The top was now completely flat and the hair waxed straight up.
The haircut was done. The cape was removed. The chair was turned around towards the mirror. I had a very short flattop, waxed up and completely flat.
He took a large mirror and showed me the clipper shaved back and sides. Then he showed me the top. I was horrified. Most of the hair was cut off the top of my head. The back third was cut short like a butch. There was a one inch strip of hair running around the edge going two thirds back.
The barber said this was a horseshoe flattop. It was the best cut for going real short from a butch. There was not much hair left to train it to stand up.
It's a good thing my brother did not see the top of my head or he would have been out the door. From the sides and back it looked like a regular flattop. You could not see the hole in the middle nor the horseshoe shape of the bristles.
I hated it and dreaded school. I climbed out of the chair and my brother got in. I wanted to watch this. In no time his back and sides were clipped up to the crown.
KrewComb was applied, hair stood up and flattening started. He could see himself in the mirror across the room. The beginnings of the flat top brought tears. Then came the strip clear back and the large hole cut out of the middle. He had no idea how it was being cut. Wait till he sees it. Butchwax was applied and hair brushed straight up and back. Then the precise free handing was done.
When my brother saw the top he shed more tears. My dad laughed.
The barber gave us two of those round flattop combs and some butchwax. He said we'd have to train our hair to stand straight up. We paid and went home. My dad said, "See, you've got longer hair." I didn't agree. We'd gone in with a butch and left with much less hair.
School was horrible. They kept feeling my haircut. I had to keep combing it up. They laughed at the ring and the bald center. I was humiliated. I'm sure my brother went through the same thing.
Each flattop we got during the school year was longer. The horseshoe disappeared. The school year went fast. There was one week of school left. Dad said it was summer butch time? Could we at least keep the flattops? We were used to them. He said, "A deal's a a deal".
He took us to the barbershop. Those flattops were sheared off fast into brutally short summer butches. Again my brother teared up. School was a blast. Call me baldy.
All summer. five short cuts. Then shaggy, grown out butch. Dad said, "Haircut time". We begged not to get another horseshoe flattop.
At the barbershop dad told the barber to give us a short back and sides. I was not sure what this was. It sounded like longer hair on top. I was the first in the chair. Up went the bare blade clippers on the back and sides, clear up to the crown. I felt panic coming on. Was this another horseshoe?
The barber combed and used the scissors some. Then he massaged some white cream in my hair. He combed my hair down and tried to straight part it. It had been in a butch and wanted to stay in a butch. The barber said to keep oiling it down and by the next haircut it should lay down better. I was not thrilled with this haircut. I didn't like the grease. At least I'd eventually have hair to comb.
The haircut was growing out nice into the school year We had about ten haircuts. We both liked it.
It was the last week of school. I'd forgotten about the summer butches. Our hair was looking so good.
Dad called for us and said it was summer butch time. We rebelled and said, "No". We ended up at the barber shop, me in the chair, off with my hair. All that perfectly coifed hair cut of in an extremely short butch. Brother? Same cut. More tears. We looked like little boys. School was really terrible because we'd had more hair to lose.
It was time for school to start. I was starting eighth grade, my brother high school. Dad said, "Back to school butches for you two. We're not messing around with that "In between" stage.
Back to the barber. End of story.
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