MY TONSORIAL EVENT

Ebbets Field

'East Patchogue elementary school

The 'barbershop was one of these store fronts.

There are many first-time events in my life that I can recall. Many of them were with my father in some form and some with my sons.

With my dad, there were events like my first baseball game at Ebbet’s Field and the Brooklyn Dodgers, my first date with a girl in 6th grade, a school dance, (Cheryl Ridgeway, Dad took us to the school dance), my first restaurant visit ever when I was 3-years old when mom had to go to the hospital to have my younger sister (Chinese) under the BMT EL on Broadway, and my first haircut as a young child in Brooklyn, the shop was located on Rockaway Avenue near the corner of Fulton Street, under the now extinct ‘El.’

I remember it was a Saturday morning because Dad was home from work and I was maybe 2-years-old. We walked to the barbershop since it was about two or three blocks away. My hair then was very blond then as I walked in the morning sunlight. We reached the barbers and I notice the front store window with its wooden blinds and gold leaf lettering across the plate glass window. The barbershop was across the street from the dentist's office where my younger sister had to have a tooth extracted a few years later from drinking too much soda.

It seemed mom had an idea that I could be a violinist if I let my hair grow out and dad saw me more as turning transvestite so he said, “Let’s go!”

I remember the barbershop had three massive chairs and leather straps that hung down the side of each chair, the handle that pumped the chair up or down for the comfortable height of the barber as he cut and trimmed your hair.

As I was about to climb up on the chair when this wooden slat about 6 to 8 inches wide and spanned the length of the seat was placed over the armrests for my lack of height by the barber in his white coat. To prevent me from crying as the barber grabbed his electric shears, he handed me a toy airplane that he said made the same noise as the scissors. While he cut I flew the plane and didn’t cry until he took the plane back. (Cheap bastard!)

Today, I went to the barber because I was stepping on my hair every time I paced backward. (Not really) My barber, Haim, comes from Israel and I think is in hiding from the Israeli police for taking some customers head off while cutting his hair. He gets into his trade or craft very enthusiastically, moving my head around like he is in the final frame working of two strikes and can finish off his game with a perfect 300!
He grabs, bends, pulls and twists with the best of them, he leaves your ears red and you semiconscious. Why do I go to him? Because he greets me with a smile, is happy to have my business, gives a very decent haircut, and his price is good, too!

As he finished off the victim ahead of me, I notice he was bald and had what hair he had on the sides shaved down to the skin on his head. As he walked out the door I asked him if he wanted it that short as I patted the top of my head. Not understanding much English including the words “OUCH” and “You crazy bastard, take it easy” he gave me some explanation, then asked me if I wanted my haircut “scissors or box.”

“Just scissors, I don’t feel like boxing right now!”

As I sat in his chair in fear for my ears, I recalled my first haircut and realized that I was there for all my haircuts, pretty good record, no?