I was out for a ride last night with Kaya. We’re doing our thing tearing up some single track. I paused to grab a snack and a drink of water, but wanted to clean up my glasses. Take them off and that’s when it hit me… I need a hair cut. You see, there’s a simple gauge for me when I need… and I’m talking NEED a haircut and it goes like this: Take something off head and hair goes everywhere? I need a haircut. Hair needing to be be tucked behind my ears? I need a haircut. Wake up in the morning and curls stand about 4 inches off the top of my head and I’ve got the rockabilly look on acid going? I need a haircut. So on and so forth. So after a bit of work around the house this morning, out came the Wahl clippers, comb and scissors. Into the bathroom and set things up to cut my hair. Wait.. You’re probably thinking: “where’s the appointment?” or “Who’s the barber?” You’re lookin’ at him bub. I want to say I’ve been cutting my own hair consistently without skipping a beat since around the my junior year in high school. And that brings back some memories so here goes.
I’ve got a head of hair. That’s what one of the first things most barbers will tell me. “Wow, you have a thick head of hair.” My grandmom always used to tell me she wished she had my hair. I somehow was blessed with the thick head of curly locks gene. Anyway, I first recall my Mom picking up the scissors and giving me a cut every so often. Typically somewhere before school started and around the beginning of summer? The scissors sat in our cabinet in the bathroom right next to this long, clear plastic comb. When those were out on the kitchen table, I knew it was time to get a cut. Somewhere around the second grade, I recall waking up and I had had enough of long hair. I recall it being in my eyes or something. So when I woke up, I nabbed those scissors, took that hunk of hair and off it came. I don’t know what got into me but my mom was in a panic. She was almost out the door when I came down stairs to go to the bus stop… yeah like 10 minutes before the bus came and I’m missing hair. She had to call in that she was coming late, take emergency actions and dial things in for me. Some years later, she admitted that my hair got to a certain point where it started to curl and she just couldn’t cut it since she thought it look so nice. So it goes.
Some times I’d go with her to her hair stylist in Allentown and I’d get the full treatment. Best part of Brian’s studio was he had all these Sports Illustrated mags and I’d just sit there and pour over all the football pics. My turn would come and in I’d go to have my hair cut. Then it seemed I was released some where in middle school to kind of go it alone. Mom took me to a place locally and then from there I’d just walk over when my appointment came. I recall some kids not liking to get their hair cut, but I felt free when I got my hair cut. I literally felt lighter and cooler (not in the stylistic way, but literally my head was breathing more). I always loved that feeling walking back down the alley home from Main Street with a slight hop in my step thanks to less hair.
I can’t recall exactly when, maybe 7th or 8th grade? But this place on Main Street was purchased by one of my Mom’s good friends Louis. She named it something to the tune of “The Main Place” or something? Anyway, a play on words I think being it was on Main St. in East Greenville and your hair was your “Mayne”. The sign had a lion on it… Anyway, Louis (I think I’m spelling that right) was great. I always like talking with her. She was a cyclist so we’d talk bikes and she’d cut my hair and she was good at it. Kind of hard to find someone who can cut your hair to your liking without you really having to tell them what you want and how to cut it. So this went for some time till maybe 9th or 10th grade, she decided to basically sell everything except her bike, rode cross country and started anew out on the West Coast. I remember that last cut and talking about her up coming ride across the U.S. But that left me in the lurch: No barber…
Right around this same time, a good friend of mine Pete called me one afternoon and said: “HENRY! Get over here. I need my hair cut. I think you can do it.” Huh? Ok, I agreed. Pete was (and is) a die hard friend. I’d do anything for Pete, so off I went to Pete’s house and into the kitchen where he had everything laid out. Basically a pair of scissors and a Wahl clipper… “Follow what the other guy did”. Ok, so I held my breath and away I went. Not bad at the end of the day, and best of all not crooked. So I started cutting Pete’s hair every once in a while but that opened the question: Could I cut my own hair? So off to Rite Aid down by the Weis’s plaza and I had a set of Wahl clippers with all the attachments and I found myself in front of our mirror at home cutting my own hair. I haven’t stopped cutting my own hair since then.
Well, when you cut one persons hair… Word gets out “Kris can give a good hair cut.” So I started randomly finding myself cutting other friends hair. Simple cuts. Nothing too complicated. When I was a lifeguard over the summers, again word was out and the other guards would line up and I’d give a few of them trims now and again. One time I was cutting my bud Chris’s hair outside the Guard room when this little scrub Kenny walks over and asks if he could be next. Kenny lived right down the street from me on Jefferson St. so I said sure. I cut his hair like I cut mine. Short on the sides, tapered up a bit then slightly longer on top blending it all in. I didn’t think I just cut Kenny’s hair. Later that day, a Mom walked over to me… My heart sank. I’m in for it. “Are you Kris?” I said I was… “I just want to say thank you for cutting Kenny’s hair. It’s one of the nicest haircuts he’s ever had.” A close call for sure, but now when additional kids lined up and I cut their hair? I had them get their mom’s permission FIRST. No charge either. They just lined up and I cut their hair occasionally when I was doing other guards. And that included some of the girls too. The first time I cut a girls hair, I tried talking her out of it. That had all kinds of layering and stuff to do. I didn’t do that! “Kris, you can do it. I know you can. It’s fine if you screw up.” Well, I gave it a go and it turned out ok and a few others followed suit that summer.
Same thing through college too. Roommates saw me cutting my own hair, were baffled by how I did it but asked if I’d cut their hair. So it continued. Funny part is if anyone ever showed up and asked me to cut their hair, I’d probably gladly cut their hair for them for old times sake. But I never gave it much thought. It was just something of a challenge my buddy Pete handed off to me one summer morning and I’ve been cutting my own hair since. I feel lighter again today. And my heads cooler. No appointment necessary. My tip? I’m headed out the door for a ride…
Haircuts!
I was out for a ride last night with Kaya. We’re doing our thing tearing up some single track. I paused to grab a snack and a drink of water, but wanted to clean up my glasses. Take them off and that’s when it hit me… I need a hair cut. You see, there’s a simple gauge for me when I need… and I’m talking NEED a haircut and it goes like this: Take something off head and hair goes everywhere? I need a haircut. Hair needing to be be tucked behind my ears? I need a haircut. Wake up in the morning and curls stand about 4 inches off the top of my head and I’ve got the rockabilly look on acid going? I need a haircut. So on and so forth. So after a bit of work around the house this morning, out came the Wahl clippers, comb and scissors. Into the bathroom and set things up to cut my hair. Wait.. You’re probably thinking: “where’s the appointment?” or “Who’s the barber?” You’re lookin’ at him bub. I want to say I’ve been cutting my own hair consistently without skipping a beat since around the my junior year in high school. And that brings back some memories so here goes.
I’ve got a head of hair. That’s what one of the first things most barbers will tell me. “Wow, you have a thick head of hair.” My grandmom always used to tell me she wished she had my hair. I somehow was blessed with the thick head of curly locks gene. Anyway, I first recall my Mom picking up the scissors and giving me a cut every so often. Typically somewhere before school started and around the beginning of summer? The scissors sat in our cabinet in the bathroom right next to this long, clear plastic comb. When those were out on the kitchen table, I knew it was time to get a cut. Somewhere around the second grade, I recall waking up and I had had enough of long hair. I recall it being in my eyes or something. So when I woke up, I nabbed those scissors, took that hunk of hair and off it came. I don’t know what got into me but my mom was in a panic. She was almost out the door when I came down stairs to go to the bus stop… yeah like 10 minutes before the bus came and I’m missing hair. She had to call in that she was coming late, take emergency actions and dial things in for me. Some years later, she admitted that my hair got to a certain point where it started to curl and she just couldn’t cut it since she thought it look so nice. So it goes.
Some times I’d go with her to her hair stylist in Allentown and I’d get the full treatment. Best part of Brian’s studio was he had all these Sports Illustrated mags and I’d just sit there and pour over all the football pics. My turn would come and in I’d go to have my hair cut. Then it seemed I was released some where in middle school to kind of go it alone. Mom took me to a place locally and then from there I’d just walk over when my appointment came. I recall some kids not liking to get their hair cut, but I felt free when I got my hair cut. I literally felt lighter and cooler (not in the stylistic way, but literally my head was breathing more). I always loved that feeling walking back down the alley home from Main Street with a slight hop in my step thanks to less hair.
I can’t recall exactly when, maybe 7th or 8th grade? But this place on Main Street was purchased by one of my Mom’s good friends Louis. She named it something to the tune of “The Main Place” or something? Anyway, a play on words I think being it was on Main St. in East Greenville and your hair was your “Mayne”. The sign had a lion on it… Anyway, Louis (I think I’m spelling that right) was great. I always like talking with her. She was a cyclist so we’d talk bikes and she’d cut my hair and she was good at it. Kind of hard to find someone who can cut your hair to your liking without you really having to tell them what you want and how to cut it. So this went for some time till maybe 9th or 10th grade, she decided to basically sell everything except her bike, rode cross country and started anew out on the West Coast. I remember that last cut and talking about her up coming ride across the U.S. But that left me in the lurch: No barber…
Right around this same time, a good friend of mine Pete called me one afternoon and said: “HENRY! Get over here. I need my hair cut. I think you can do it.” Huh? Ok, I agreed. Pete was (and is) a die hard friend. I’d do anything for Pete, so off I went to Pete’s house and into the kitchen where he had everything laid out. Basically a pair of scissors and a Wahl clipper… “Follow what the other guy did”. Ok, so I held my breath and away I went. Not bad at the end of the day, and best of all not crooked. So I started cutting Pete’s hair every once in a while but that opened the question: Could I cut my own hair? So off to Rite Aid down by the Weis’s plaza and I had a set of Wahl clippers with all the attachments and I found myself in front of our mirror at home cutting my own hair. I haven’t stopped cutting my own hair since then.
Well, when you cut one persons hair… Word gets out “Kris can give a good hair cut.” So I started randomly finding myself cutting other friends hair. Simple cuts. Nothing too complicated. When I was a lifeguard over the summers, again word was out and the other guards would line up and I’d give a few of them trims now and again. One time I was cutting my bud Chris’s hair outside the Guard room when this little scrub Kenny walks over and asks if he could be next. Kenny lived right down the street from me on Jefferson St. so I said sure. I cut his hair like I cut mine. Short on the sides, tapered up a bit then slightly longer on top blending it all in. I didn’t think I just cut Kenny’s hair. Later that day, a Mom walked over to me… My heart sank. I’m in for it. “Are you Kris?” I said I was… “I just want to say thank you for cutting Kenny’s hair. It’s one of the nicest haircuts he’s ever had.” A close call for sure, but now when additional kids lined up and I cut their hair? I had them get their mom’s permission FIRST. No charge either. They just lined up and I cut their hair occasionally when I was doing other guards. And that included some of the girls too. The first time I cut a girls hair, I tried talking her out of it. That had all kinds of layering and stuff to do. I didn’t do that! “Kris, you can do it. I know you can. It’s fine if you screw up.” Well, I gave it a go and it turned out ok and a few others followed suit that summer.
Same thing through college too. Roommates saw me cutting my own hair, were baffled by how I did it but asked if I’d cut their hair. So it continued. Funny part is if anyone ever showed up and asked me to cut their hair, I’d probably gladly cut their hair for them for old times sake. But I never gave it much thought. It was just something of a challenge my buddy Pete handed off to me one summer morning and I’ve been cutting my own hair since. I feel lighter again today. And my heads cooler. No appointment necessary. My tip? I’m headed out the door for a ride…