Haircuts

I realised something today while sat in the chair at the hairdressers as Suzanne got out the razor. The fact that, as a child probably from the age of 4 onwards, it wasn’t my mother who took me to the hairdressers to get my hair cut, but my dad. As in, I went with him and my 2 older brothers to the barbers and then, later, all 4 brothers. No mother or older sister in sight. I was always sat with the boys getting my hair cut by a barber, and cut short like my brothers. Right up until I was eleven I went to the barbers and always had short hair rather than the usual long hair most girls had. It wasn’t till after my 11th birthday that I stopped going to get my hair cut. My hair was just left to grow, and grow, and grow. And yes, it did grow. Not because I wanted it to grow. Or I was asked whether I wanted long hair; I didn’t. I had no choice in the matter. Neither as a child or as a teen. My mother dictated the length of my hair. And whether or not I could go and get it cut. It was…