Thursday, November 17, 2011

My Prestigious Award

I believe that I’ve finally found a person to cut my hair that I actually like.

I have a tendency to get my hair cut and then swear it’s the worst one yet. This is probably due to the fact that I hate to get my hair cut in the first place. Sitting still in a chair listing to some hair stylist drone on about their car troubles and the price of sweaters. It seems so girly to get your hair cut, and every hair cut seems to be more annoying than the last.

In 1986 I sat upon the curb in front of John Evans Junior High School. My Father had unceremoniously kicked me out of his truck hours earlier to attend the eighth grade awards ceremony. I really don’t remember the award I was receiving, probably something minor like Most Improved Attendance. Even then, I thought I deserved the award for Eight Grader with the Most Panache, as my style was so superior to my fellow male classmates. For the ceremony I was sporting a shirt with a handsome tie, well it wasn’t necessarily a tie, more like a scarf that I had taken from my sister and made into an ascot. The colors of my ascot were set off in my acrylic sweater vest. I held down my freshly blow-dried and feathered hair as I entered the auditorium, the other boy’s hairstyles being so horrible. I didn’t want my hair to be messy as I ascended the stage for my prestigious award. All in all, I was a fourteen year old man ‘bout town.

Finding my seat in the auditorium I noticed that there were actually three seats reserved. One chair for the Dad, one for the Mom and one for the student. All the families settled into their assigned seats. I sat in the middle seat and started to pretend that my parents were on a European holiday. Why else wouldn’t they be there to help me receive such an amazing career acknowledging award? It’s funny, nowadays when I feel completely out of place and awkward in public settings, I just click away on my iPhone, pretending I have really important people to talk too. Back then I sat and played with my perfect feathered hair.

As my name was called I went to the stage to make a speech, to find the Principal just handing the pieces of paper off the front like bales of hay. This is not how Marlee Matlin received her award? As I walked back to my three seats, a yellow piece of paper in hand, a mother of one of the other kid’s next to me took pity and acknowledged my good work, then smiled at my floral tie.

I ripped my tie off in the hours outside waiting for my Father to show up. I examined the gold seal on the John Evans Junior High award certificate and tried to not acknowledge that my Dad had forgotten to come pick me up. It was very dark out when I purposely messed my hair, trying to get it as un-coiffed as possible. Make it look like the other boys in my class. The other boys who were home, safe and sound.

For the first time I have found someone that cuts my hair and make it feel like something I want to actually participate in; of course, the person who took the guilt out me liking my hair is an alpaca breeding, Lesbian. This sandal wearing, alpaca owning Lesbian that makes me feel comfortable in my own skin. I think I might just grow my hair out.


Jim said...

Did the back of your feathered haired head look like a duck's butt?

You look handsome no matter what hairstyle!

Wow... what an interesting, insightful story. Hugs to you.

BosGuy said...

Oh my, that photo makes me think back to the 80s and the Hardy Boys.

Wonder Man said...

I thought of "You Can't Do That on Television"

Homer said...

My father didn't come to a single school event until my senior year, when he came to an awards ceremony (where I won the top award) and then I had to force him to come to my graduation. He hated education with a passion.

cb said...

I hated reading about the "three seats". :-(

And even though my hair is stick straight, I could never find a stylist that didn't fuck it up.

So I've been cutting my own hair for 10 years. I figure this way, at least I'm not paying for someone to make me look ugly.