Renewing My Bro Code License—a trip to the barbershop
I am ready for a trip to renew my
Mancode License, to the Mecca of Manliness, the Cultivator to the Code, the Gas
Tank of Testosterone, to the . . . BARBERSHOP.
Once in a while, about every three weeks
or so, I feel like I need to take a sabbatical from my daily life of political
correctness and pleasing others. I feel a need to be real and honest; to forget
about saying the right things to the right people; to drop my arms from their
defensive position and relax and just be comfortable being myself; so, I go to
the barbershop.
For the first several years of my
life, my dad inflicted his personal idea of a good haircut on me. He was a
soldier in the Army, so, he sheared my head in a “military” style cut until it
would be hard to discern my head from the oniony head, just can’t keep from
touching it, Chia Pet plant. Luckily, these years were on or around military
bases, so, all the other kids had similar hairstyles. At around 7 or 8 years
old, Dad became a part-time soldier and a full-time civilian. We lived in the
same town as my grandpa, and Grandpa took over Little Paul’s hair-cutting.
Grandpa took me to Buzz’s
Barbershop in Desoto, Missouri. Buzz was a retired war veteran and ex-star
athlete in Desoto. In the basement of his home, Buzz had plenty of chairs where
the town’s old men could sit, gossip, and reminisce about times gone by. He
also had a barber chair. In between sentences and during awkward pauses, Buzz
would cut hair if there was a person sitting where the scissors work. Buzz and a nice man named Basil Davis were
who cut my hair while I lived in Missouri. Occasionally my Aunt Kathy would cut
my hair in her salon, but I honestly always felt a little “girly” at the salon
unless it was empty.
When I moved to Indiana, I had a
hard time finding the barber shop atmosphere I was accustomed to. Moreover,
there were fewer and fewer barbers to be found; the profession seemed to be
dying off. I was forced to break the Man Code and get my cut at salons and
boutiques. I still received good haircuts, but the salon had a feminine
“ambiance” instead of a manly “feel or smell.” Now, I acknowledge this
perspective is relative; I was simply accustomed to barbers. I know that many
guys are accustomed to stylists at salons and boutiques. One of my best
friends, Chad, had never been to a barber until I took him to one in Terre
Haute. He had a good time listening to all the man talk in the shop, but he didn’t like the feel of a man touching
his hair. He felt out of place, while I felt right as rain.
Barber shops are therapeutic to me.
Two to three times a year, my wife treats me to a haircut and hot lather,
straight razor, shave at Red’s Barber Shop in Indianapolis. Though it is a bit
disconcerting to be so vulnerable with the business end of a straight razor
touching my throat, it is relaxing, top notch, and pampering . . . and this
man-spa pampering still is allowable under Man Code rules.
I primarily go to Timberman’s in
Brazil, Indiana. I love it there. I like all the manly artifacts in the shop: baseball
memorabilia, hunting tools, deer heads, and stuffed fish line the walls and
start conversations for us customers. I also like that there is an ally close
to the side entrance, it makes me feel like I could be on “the lamb” but could
still sneak in for a quick haircut (childhood game). Zeb, T.G., and Mr.
Timberman (the barbers) always seem to be in a good mood, and they are always rip-roaring
ready for a good joke or story. Sometimes we may get a little carried away with
our cutting up, but Parker,( TG’s son) is usually there to inject his wit and
sarcasm and bring us back to a manageable level. For example, when Zeb asks me,
“How do you want it?” and I say, “Make me look like George Clooney,” Parker is
there to say, “I don’t think that is ever going to happen.” Haha—thanks Parker.
The Man Code permits insults as long as they are witty.
The hair cut is over. As quickly as
I leave, the next man sits in the chair and jumps into the conversation
wherever it had left off. Once again, my license is validated and I am again a
card carrying man with a great hair cut to boot. Next week, I will share
information and research about the barbering profession. If you would like to
comment on this column or on others I have written, you can follow me at
paulharbour.blogspot.com
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