Maturing Fast
The story of a teenage forced to entirely change his look entirely and conform to the style his parents decide for him (it's my first post of Tumblr, and possibly the first part of a longer story, so all comments welcomed).
As a teenager growing up in the mid-90s, I thought I was invincible - while I wasn't really bad, I did push boundaries, and would occasionally skip classes with my mates and had had a couple of warnings from the police. Jeans, tracksuits and trainers and my centre parted 'curtains' hairstyle hung down to cover the top of my ears and sat full at the back of my head down to my collar - this was my look, and I thought I looked so cool! It was just the start of spring break and I got caught with my mates for fighting another group of kids at the shopping centre, and the police got involved. My parents were furious, and I was instantly told that, as part of my punishment, I was grounded. I'd been given previous warnings about my behaviour, and I was told that things would change to ensure my behaviour improved. After 2 weeks of extreme boredom of not being able to leave the house, other than under the supervision of my parents, it got to the Saturday before school returned, and I was told by my dad we were going into town. They were still angry that I was letting them down, and so I knew better than to question this or push back. We found ourself outside the barber my dad went to - and which I had gone to until about 4 years previous. Many a standard boys short back and sides with a straight fringe had been administered to me here in the years before I was allowed to get a more fashionable haircut from a stylist. My dad turned to me, "right, listen up, you'll be getting a haircut of my choosing today, as it's become clear that you can't make sensible decisions on your own, and you need clearer guidance on what is acceptable, and how a responsible young man should act and look." I knew I had no really option on this so merely nodded and got directed in through the door to wait. 15 minutes later I was in the barber's chair. We'd covered the predictables - yes, I'd grown a lot in 4 years, and yes, the barber had never seen my hair so long. I knew better than to make any sarcastic comments, so merely nodded and awaited my fate, with growing nervousness. And here it came, as my dad told the barber "he's been getting himself into a bit of trouble of late, so me and his mum have decided he needs more direction and clarity to help support him make the right decisions - it's time for a change of style, I'm thinking something similar to how I wear my hair." I was horrified. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. My dad was in his forties. I was 15. How could it possibly be considered that his deeply unfashionable dad's hair style could be considered suitable for me?!? My dad's hair, peppered with grey, was a short back and sides - maybe half an inch on the back and sides, but then with a side part with the hair swept back to form a small quiff of hair to match with the other dull business men he worked with. Surely he just meant to make the hair a bit shorter, rather than to inflict a style that only a middle aged man could consider wearing - I was surely panicking unnecessarily? The barber nodded, "ok, so if we start with a short back and sides and then we can take it from there. Are we keeping the centre parting?" my dad jumped straight in to kill any hopes that I could retain anything like my current style: "no, he needs a proper mans haircut - side parted, short but with enough to sit nicely." With that the barber started combing out my hair and wetting it. He brushed it forward then put in a new part about a quarter of the way across my head. "how's that?" the barber asked. "No, I think a bit further over, just like mine" my dad responded. The barber raised his eyebrows slightly and moved the parting over so it sat over near the temple of my head. My dad nodded. This was looking horrific. The barber was quickly chopping away at hair. He cut tightly around the back and sides of my head, fully exposing my ears and neck. The bulk of my hair was quickly reduced around the sides to less than half an inch, and then getting progressively longer on the crown of my head, through to about 3 inches at the front, which was swept to the side, following a thrashing with the thinning shears. I thought that at least I could try and recreate my centre parted haircut at the front - even though it would be much shorter, I could salvage something of my dignity. The barber killed any hopes of this as he briefly brushed my hair forward, and working from the full length at the side where the part was, he then cut diagonally upwards through my fringe, so that at the other side of my forehead I had almost no fringe at all. I was horrified. This left me with no option at all other than to wear my hair to the side. He then blow-dried my hair, helping to train it to sit flat in the newly inflicted side parting. He then suggested to shave in the side parting to help me to make sure I kept a proper, straight parting, especially while my hair was getting used to it's new style. My dad readily agreed, further signing my death warrant on having any flexibility on my hairstyle whatsoever. He then used his razor and started to taper the back and sides of my already short hair. I thought it couldn't get any worse, but he then shaved off my entire sideburns, which were my best feature, having extended fully to the bottom of my ear lobe. I was reduced to the tiniest of tabs at the very top of my ears. I reflected on how ridiculous I looked as he trimmed around the hairline and dusted me off. I looked like a want-to-be junior librarian. "Pomade?" My dad nodded. My hair was suddenly plastered with grease and brushed carefully to either side of the bright white parting, while the front hair was carefully flicked over and brushed backwards. I was then shown the back which just looked like a very bland man's hairstyle, with my hair now being a dark, shiny brown rather than the dirty blond of my long-haired days. I looked even more stupid now - I looked like a little boy trying to be a business man. I was so upset. How could my dad do this to me? He looked so pleased with himself, he had a massive smile on his face as I went and sat on the row of seats. My dad was now in the chair getting his normal trim and, with pomade applied, had a very similar style to me - though his grey hair made it much less harsh than my dark hair really highlighting the businessman's hairstyle that now sat on my head. No-one at school had a style like this - yes some boys had shorter hair (especially the nerdy ones), but even they didn't have a side parting!!! As we left the shop my dad ruffled my hair (which did not move!) and said how proud he was of my behaviour, and that he hoped I would realise that this is just part of him and my mum helping to show me the right way to get ahead in life. I burst into tears. Anger and humiliation surged through my body as I screamed at him. To be fair to him, he was very calm but he explained that things needed to change, and that this was just part of the journey to me becoming a respectable man. He guided me down the road as he said we needed to buy some things for the start of the school term on Monday. In the shoe shop, he asked for a pair of black shoes for me - the man came back with a pair of waxy leather boat shoes. While my mates all wore trainers to school, I also saw that many of the kids wore these shoes, and while it was another frustration if I was made to wear these, it still wasn't anything bad compared to the haircut. However my dad shook his head and asked for a formal dress shoe. A pair of formal dress oxfords were put on my feet. They were the shiniest shoes I'd ever seen, and so stiff and creaky, while the leather sole clomped on the floor as I walked down the shop in them. I highlighted they hurt my feet, but my dad was happy that I'd soon break them in, as I'd be wearing them every day - this was as bad as the haircut! We then went on to buy some new smart trousers and blazer to replace the jeans I'd previously worn to school. I was going to look like a junior funeral director. I wasn't sure how I was going to get through school on Monday, but I was hopeful that this punishment would soon pass. But my parent had other ideas, and little did I realise this was just the start of my journey to adulthood.