My Hometown

My Hometown

Frank the Barber

Living in the big city means that when it is time for my haircut, I have several different options for where to go get it at my fingertips.

I can go to those higher end places where an appointment is necessary.

I can hit up those middle of the road places where walk-in’s are accepted, but appointments come first.

Or, for those of us in a hurry (this is usually me), I can stop at those ten minute, in and out type of places.

But back in my small town when I was growing up, there was only one place for boys to go; Frank The Barber.

Betty’s Hair Place was where I had my first sip of coffee and all the town’s ladies gathered, but Frank’s is where the dad’s and grandfather’s went and thus, so did us little boys.

I never liked getting my hair cut, but I always loved watching the spinning tube of red and white stripes outside of his shop.

I laughed when I saw the combs soaking in the blue water; my papa always said that it was a comb Jacuzzi.

And I loved getting the free sucker at the counter when my haircut was finished; cherry always being the sought after flavor of choice.

Problem with Frank was that he really wasn’t that good of a barber.

He mastered one haircut; AND only that one.

Dad, grandpa, myself, and everyone else had the same part in our hair to the right side no matter how much, or how little bit of hair, we had on the top of our head.

If you looked around Sunday morning service at all of the guys, you knew exactly which one’s go to Frank to get their hair cut.

Except if you looked at Frank.

Frank was the only guy in my whole town with his hair slicked back and no part in it.


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