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Most of the time I was growing up, my father cut my hair. I would sit in a black and chrome vinyl high chair in the kitchen with a sheet draped around my shoulders as he applied the clippers. I think sometimes he placed a bowl on my head, the better to guide his hand and ensure symmetry.
I don’t recall how many of my three brothers also had their hair cut by my father, but perhaps all did at some point in time.
My father never made much money teaching at a small liberal arts college (I think it was only in his later years that his income exceeded $10k/year), but he was adept at stretching a dollar.
So was my mother.
Once in a while I got to go to a real barber in a town a couple miles away. I would pedal my bike, spokes of the wheels festooned with multicolored crepe paper, there. I didn’t bother to lock it as I parked it outside the barbershop. In fact, I don’t recall even owning a bike lock or chain. In those days we weren’t much worried about theft. We often left our houses and cars unlocked. They were rarely broken into.
While I sat and waited my turn in the chair, I would peruse various magazines and comic books while the vertical white, red and blue barber cylinder turned slowly on its axis outside the door.
One of the comic books I recall viewing was that of Superman. A fictional superhero, he first appeared in 1938 in comic books published by D C Comics. Created by writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Shuster, he came from the planet…
