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There were times when Grandma needed a creative outlet and cutting my hair was one of her favorite ways to show off her inclinations. She worked in a downtown jewelry store, and one would think that designing rings and bracelets would satisfy her creative urges, but apparently making me look like Moe on “The Three Stooges” was something she felt had to be added to her repertoire of pursuits. The early 60’s proved to be an avant-garde time with free love, free drugs, and unfortunately for me, free haircuts. Today, I’m confident that’s what propelled me, years later, into the beauty industry.
The 60’s were all about making a stand. Activism was at its height and I took some of that nostalgia with me when I opened up my first salon in 1981. I would make a stand for all the children who fell victim to family members who thought they could cut their kids bangs like the professionals. I’m not sure if most peoples careers are decided because of an error in judgment, such as letting an elderly grandmother have at them with fabric shears, but I’m certain it was a pivotal point for me.
My parents and grandmother would be chatting as if nothing horrible was about to happen when my mother would yell from the kitchen, “Come on, honey, Grandmas gonna cut your hair.” I, in my naiveté, would run happily into the hands of a serial cutter. I recognize her, now, as a serial cutter because she got her hands on my brother, too. At least, being a boy, it wasn’t so bad for him to look like Moe. The kitchen would be set up like a real beauty parlor with a bath sheet that she used for a cape and a glass of water to dip her comb into before she went to town on us. The scissors she used had those little ridges on the blades like Ruffles potato chips. To this day, I can’t eat a Ruffle.
Aside from those haircuts that would forever scar me, I do think back fondly on my grandmother. She was a lot of fun, albeit a terrible hair cutter. When I look at old family photos, I notice that my brother and I are always standing outside. Alone. My grandmother took most of the pictures, as that was another of her creative pursuits. At that young age, I didn’t know why I was always the one with her thumb outline over my face while my brother showed only half his body. My parents were never in any of our photos. Perhaps they knew something we didn’t. I’m imagining Mom and Dad were too embarrassed to be seen with us after getting our hair cut . . . or maybe they were just inside laughing and watching the Three Stooges. I’m guessing Moe was their favorite.
