Protest

WHEN I WAS 12, MY HIPPIE PARENTSDRAGGED ME TO AN ANTI-MILITARYPROTEST AT THE LOCAL UNITED STATESMARINE CORPS BASE. THERE WEREDRUM CIRCLES, OPEN-MIC POETRYAND THEY TRIED TO LEVITATE THEARMORY WITH THEIR MINDS.ARMORY WITH THEIR MINDS.

I SNUCK OFF WHEN THEY WEREN’TLOOKING AND WENT STRAIGHT TOTHE BASE BARBERSHOP. I STOODOUTSIDE WATCHING THE PARADEOF SHORT HAIRCUTS AND WONDEREDIF IT WAS OPEN TO THE PUBLIC.

I WENT IN ANYWAY.I WENT IN ANYWAY.

FORT MCRANDBARBERSHOP

IT WAS COOL AND DRY AS I STEPPED THROUGH THEDOOR. IT HAD THE SMELLOF SHORT HAIR AND OFBUTCH WAX. I KNEW THISWAS THE RIGHT PLACE.

THERE WAS A STERN LADYTHERE WAS A STERN LADYIN A CRISP MARINE CORPSUNIFORM TALKING ON THEPHONE. I HOPED SHE WASNOT GOING TO BE UPSETWITH ME BEING THERE.

AS SHE SAID “NO MA’AM, I HAVE NOT SEEN ANYTHINGRESEMBLING A ‘LOVE-CHILD’ WITH ‘GOLDEN TRESSES LIKE SUN-KISSED FLAX’ ANYWHERE AROUND THISAREA OF THE BASE.”

AS SHE SAID THIS, SHEROLLED HER EYES; SHE ROLLED HER EYES; SHE KNEW WHY I WAS HERE, AND PATTED THE LARGE RED LEATHER BARBER CHAIR.I HURRIED OVER ANDCLIMBED UP INTO IT ASFAST AS I COULD.

SHE INSTRUCTED THEM TO SEE THE QUARTERMASTERAT THE VISITORS’ CENTER(CONVENIENTLY LOCATEDAT THE OTHER END OF THEBASE, NATURALLY) AND THEN HUNG UP THE PHONE.THEN HUNG UP THE PHONE.I KNEW I WAS SAFE.

“NOW THEN”, SHE SAID, TURNING TO ME, “LET’SGET YOU CLEANED UP.”

THERE WAS NONE OF THE FUSSY SALON BANTER, JUST HER FIRM GRIP ON MY HEAD SO THAT I COULDN’T MOVE, AND A PAIR OFTHE BIGGEST, BLACKEST, MOSTINTENSE LOOKING CLIPPERS I HAD EVER SEEN.HAD EVER SEEN.

IT WAS FANTASTIC!

SHE DIDN’T EVEN ASK ME WHATSORT OF HAIRCUT I WANTED.SHE SWITCHED THOSE HUNGRYCLIPPERS ON AND IMMEDIATELYSTARTED MOWING MOUNDS OF HAIR OFF OF ME. WOW!HAIR OFF OF ME. WOW!

AS SHE WAS MOWINGTHE STRIPE DOWN THE MIDDLE OF MY FLATTOP,SHE REMARKED, “YOU

DON’T SQUIM AND WHINELIKE ALL THOSE OTHER RECRUITS. IT SURE HAS RECRUITS. IT SURE HAS BEEN A TREAT FOR ME.”

I MADE SURE I SAT UP STRAIGHTER THAN I HAD BEEN BEFORE.

AS I SAT THERE, COVERED INHAIR AND ENJOYING MYREFLECTION, SHE WENT OVERTO THE CLOSET AND CAMEBACK WITH A CHANGE OFCLOTHES. “ A MILITARYHAIRCUT DESERVES A HAIRCUT DESERVES A FRESH PRESSED UNIFORMTO MATCH, DON’T YOU AGREE, SOLDIER?”

“YES MA’AM”, I PURRED.

I WALKED RIGHT OUT OFTHAT PLACE IN FULL VIEWOR MY PARENTS, WHO WERE STILL LOOKING FRANTICALLY FOR THEIR “GOLDEN BOY”.

WHAT A LAUGH!WHAT A LAUGH!