We have all had it, the bad haircut. The one that makes you want to call into work and swear that you have some horrible disease and the health department has declared you unfit to be in human company.

My father consistently had bad haircuts. The problem was his Uncle Raymond. Raymond was a barber. He was also an alcoholic. Depending on how drunk Raymond was when he cut my father’s hair it was usually somewhere between dreadful and shockingly dreadful. Daddy would take it in stride and just say that he had wavy hair. His hairs all stood on end and waved to each other.

My mother, however, did not find it amusing. Her father was a barber and an alcoholic. His customers never looked that bad. However, my grandfather lived in West Virginia and we lived in Missouri.

One day my mother had enough. She knew how to cut hair. She had paid attention as a child standing behind the barber chair begging for money for this or that item that she could not live without. She ordered a barber kit from Sears Roebuck. From this day forward she would cut Daddy’s hair. He would no longer look like a refugee from Raymond’s Barber Shop.

The barber kit arrived in the mail and mother was determined that for the first time in years Daddy would have a decent haircut. She put the oilcloth tablecloth on the floor in the living room to catch the hair. Daddy sat on a kitchen chair without his shirt and the instruction manual in his hand. He read to her while she combed and snipped. She paid no attention to him.

Finally, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. This side was higher than that so she would have to trim just a little bit. Now this side would have to be trimmed just a little bit. Peggy and I sat on the couch laughing hysterically at Daddy’s wonderful haircut. Finally, he could stand the suspense no longer and grabbed the mirror. His eyes grew wide with horror. Even when Raymond was so drunk he could barely stand, Daddy’s hair did not look this bad. All of his hair was gone except for a few patches on top of his head. Fortunately, he always wore a ball cap, so maybe nobody at work would notice his haircut.

Daddy worked graveyard shift for an automobile manufacturer in Kansas City. This was a very male dominated society. For a couple of nights he was able to keep his hat firmly on his head. But, the third night he lost his cap. The work place exploded with laughter when his head was exposed. Embarrassed, he wanted to hop the next truck leaving with a load of cars for a dealership far, far away.