THE HAIRCUT
My uncle’s country store was located on
top of Shakerag Hill overlooking what is now Peachtree
City. There was a sitting area out front covered by an
arbor of kudzu vine. This area also served as a kind of
front porch of his home, for the family lived in the back
portion of the store.
People within about a five mile radius frequently came to
the store to buy staples, to get the local news, and to
socialize. Men could also get a pretty decent haircut. My
uncle was a fair barber. He came from a very large rural
family (12 children) where it was necessary for brothers to
learn to cut each other’s hair. He still used a manual type
set of clippers, the kind that uses no electricity.
One summer day a small boy walked up to the store and said
that his parents had sent him there to get a haircut. My
uncle was too busy at the time to take care of him. Harry,
his son, who was about twelve or thirteen, decided he could
do the job. After all, he’d watched his father do it lots
of times. First, he had the boy sit on a nail keg out under
the vine arbor. Then, he placed a sheet around his neck
like barbers do and began cutting. The more he cut the
worse the boy’s hair looked. After a while, Harry realized
that he had a mess on his hands and he ran into the store
and got his father.
My uncle came out. He walked around the young boy several
times looking at the haircut from different perspectives,
observed the damage, and finally asked, “Well, how does it
feel?”
I was a very young spectator but as I recall the boy left
at least “feeling good.”