Do You Want a Moe or a Curly?

May 6, 2020

My hair had gotten so shaggy during the COVID-19 business closings that I felt like some kind of action was necessary. Who knew when the barber shops would reopen? I would have to take matters into my own hands. But first I had to make a decision, the same one I had to make 64 years ago: burr cut or bowl cut.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Me, a sad little boy on the front porch in The Chair, with a purple polka dot sheet Mom had wrapped tightly around my neck. School would start in three days and the Spencer Barbershop was having its grand opening. Dad, the proprietor, had very limited skills, and that had me worried. Especially since I had been offered up as his first customer.

Mom had always been the guardian of my locks during my preschool years. My hair was thick and long and I ran my comb through it many times a day. I was worried about Dad though. He and Uncle Jim teased me constantly. Dad said to enjoy it while I could. Did that mean I would go bald like him someday? Or was it something more sinister?

Enter Dad to his front porch shop with an evil grin and a pair of hair clippers. Now I knew what he meant. I would go bald, but prematurely.  His new weapon was about to make its first kill. I saw he also had a bowl and a pair of scissors, probably because Mom insisted I should be able to pick my poison.

Dad got right down to business. “Do you want a Moe or a Curly?”

I replied with, “How about a Larry?” Dad laughed at that one. Even fake barbers can have a sense of humor.

I couldn’t think, partly because the sheet was wound so tightly around my neck it was stopping the flow of blood to my brain. I looked at my little brother, waiting bravely on hair death row. Lloyd was only three and didn’t seem concerned about Dad’s lack of qualifications. I offered to give up my spot, and to my amazement Dad agreed. Nothing like prolonging the agony.

I took my place on the waiting chair while Mom wrapped the sheet around my brother. I looked around. Not even a Boy’s Life or Highlights for Children magazine in this joint. I heard Dad fire up his clippers, but I couldn’t bear to watch. Instead, I prayed that God would intervene for me, since it didn’t look like Mom was able to.

I forced one peek at Lloyd. Half his head was bald already. I had better decide quickly.

I liked Moe. He got to do all the eye pokes and hit Larry and Curly in the head with picks and other dangerous objects. And at least Moe had hair.

I liked Curly even more. He had the hard head that could actually bend the picks. On top of that, I could do several Curly impersonations. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to impersonate his head too.

Dad summoned me back to the chair. He needed more hair to shave. Lloyd wouldn’t need a cut again till the first grade, and that was three years away. I walked slowly, just in case God needed a few extra seconds to work His rescue plan.

Dad asked me what I wanted, and I told him I couldn’t decide. He assured me that was fine. I listened through the screen door for a last second phone call from the president of the local barbers union, but all I heard was a loud buzz.

Dad had flipped the switch and 110 lethal volts flowed instantly through his clippers. I asked him to leave a little on the top. He said OK. Then he proceeded to peel me like an onion, only I was the one crying.

Three weeks later I had my school picture taken. By then I looked like a peach. Mom tried to make me feel better with a snazzy shirt and bowtie. But I was still frowning, either at what Dad had done, or maybe at the photographer making wisecracks. Probably both.

I was vain about my hair then and the years haven’t changed me. That’s why it was so hard to choose again now. I have no barber skills, but I guess that never stopped Dad. I went for the burr.

I cut the front. Not pretty.

I was going to have Bonnie do the back but the clippers died. More likely they passed out. For a while I had a burr and a bowl, depending on whether I was coming or going. I texted a picture of the Curly side to friends and family. My son said it looked comfy. Besides being smart and talented, he’s a diplomat. One friend took the diplomatic route as well and said no comment. Another was more direct. He said I looked like a hit man. But I’m sure he meant a friendly one.

A week later new clippers, with a stronger stomach, arrived and Bonnie finished the job. Days have passed and I’m slowly growing used to my burr cut. I went walking around town this week with Bonnie and even left the hat at home. But I can’t help wondering if I should have picked a Moe, back then

and now.

At least I would still have hair. And a wicked eye poke for any wisecrackers!