Tuesday, September 4, 2012

The Beautician

by Frank Beresheim

Ever since I can remember, I have always wanted to cut hair.  As a child I would make stick figure drawings, all with different hair styles, signing my name Iris, in all capital letters.  I always knew when someone got their haircut, and would always comment on how nice it was, and followed it with “did you ever notice how good you feel after getting your haircut?”  I liked to see the big smiles people would make when I told them.  I used to love to see the glamour pictures in the newspaper for all the star’s latest hairstyles.  I would cut the hair on my dolls, but the only thing was it didn’t grow back.  I had a very unusual childhood because of my obsession.

Aside from cutting the hair on my dolls, I would cut the hair on the family dog, Noodle, a really shaggy dog.  I managed to get him to sit still long enough so that I could cut his hair and style it.  It took a whole bag of his snacks, but I think in the end it was worth it.  I did the hair on his body very evenly, and on his head, he had a man’s haircut with the part on the side.  When Mom and Dad saw him, they both had a big smile, and commented on what a good job I had done.  They gave me the fee they would pay the dog groomer, and I was smiling like they were.   Hair started to affect my school life too.
All the girls in my class started to hang out with me because I would comb their hair differently, making them prettier.  My parents forbade me from cutting any of their hair so there would be no problems with other parents.  I was allowed to do nails, and I would do all the top nail styles, as well as putting extensions on their nails.  Some of their mothers started asking if I could do their nails too.  Big trouble was waiting for me in High School. Her name was Dana, but everyone called her Cruncher, she had short hair, and was a tall as well as wide girl, wasn’t fat.  She always dressed in jeans and button down shirts.  I thought she was a boy, because of her size and the way she dressed.  I knew the school was co-ed, but I didn’t think they allowed boys into the girls room, and when she walked into the girls room, I promptly told her this is the girls’ room, and she said “You bone head, I am a girl!”  I soon learned why they called her Cruncher, a boy was picking on her, and she grabbed him squeezing him so tight, she broke his ribs.  When I called her a boy, it opened a can of worms for me with her that I thought would never end.

Continued HERE

copyright by Frank Beresheim

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