I was recently talking with Tabitha Young, bookkeeper at Union County High School. I graduated with her brother Kevin White from Horace Maynard High School’s Class of 1983. Tabitha told me Kevin remembered a time when I got in trouble in school for cutting my own hair.
Some of my fellow classmates are surprised that I have such a good memory for things that happened in our school days. I was equally surprised that Kevin remembered my early attempt at self-barbering.
It happened in Florence Chesney’s third grade class. In those days, my father took me to Ronnie Irick’s barber shop, located down the steps in the basement beneath Wise Pharmacy, across the street from the present Union County Clerk’s office (which was then Union County Bank). Dad insisted in my younger days that I have a “burr” haircut. Such a cut was definitely not in style in the early 1970s era of longer hair for boys and men.
My burr got me lots of unwanted attention during my elementary school years. I remember in sixth grade one of the most beautiful girls ever to live on earth tortured me about my hair. She occasionally asked, “Do you have to shampoo your hair, or can you just run a cloth over it?” On the bright side, I was never suspected or accused of having bugs during the frequent lice checks we endured in elementary school.
My hair grew like my lawn does now. As the weeds in my lawn grow faster than the grass, there were patches of hair on my head that grew faster than others. Accordingly, the longer between haircuts, the “weedier” my hair appeared.
On the occasion that Kevin remembered, there was a particular patch of hair above my forehead over my left eye that was long enough for me to “tweak” between my fingers. That spot was as bothersome to me as a bug bite or scab. I felt the need to get rid of that excess hair immediately.
So what did I do? I took a pair of safety scissors and cut the offensive patch of hair from my head.
I was much like a man who once trimmed his mustache. At first the left side was shorter than the right. Then he tried trimming the right side to match, but it wound up shorter than the left. Soon the man had no mustache on either side and his nose was bleeding from the razor cuts.
In my case, I cut the bothersome patch of hair to the scalp. Now I was in worse shape than ever. I had uneven lengths of hair over my entire head with one practically bald spot right above my left eye.
I don’t know who first noticed my plight, but Florence Chesney’s reaction was the first I remember. I never knew anyone could incur such wrath from their beloved teacher by a misguided attempt at self-improvement. She didn’t paddle me, but she let me have it!
When I got home, Mother was mortified, and Dad was flat-out mad! Dad didn’t tell me how stupid I was, but I got the message.
At least I got a barber shop haircut PDQ. Never again did I attempt to cut my own hair.
It was at this point in life that I knew I was not destined to be a barber.
I still suffer from PTHS (post traumatic hair syndrome). There are times I wake myself at night pulling my hair. Sometimes my wife wakes me and tells me to quit pulling my hair.

ANSWER TO QUESTION OF THE WEEK # 90
What bargain did Adlai Stevenson offer his opponents in his 1952 campaign? (ANSWER: He said if they would stop telling lies about him, he would stop telling the truth about them.)

QUESTION OF THE WEEK # 91
How messy was her house? (See the next “Mincey’s Musings” in historicunioncounty.com for the answer.