Dad's Haircut

My father was a very stubborn man.  After my mother passed away, there was no one to stop him from carrying out some of his more bizarre plans.  For example, shortly after her death, he shortened all his slacks to the point where they looked like he was preparing for high water.  I didn’t know about it until after the deed was done, and he told me, “I don’t know why Mom wanted me to wear my pants so long.”  Actually, it was because her fashion sense was better than his, but I couldn’t really tell him that.

Another quirk which emerged was that he began to cut his own hair.  He couldn’t see what he was doing and was old enough that holding his arms up to accomplish the feat was a problem, but he did it anyway.  This resulted in some dreadful haircuts.

A few months after Mom’s passing, he moved in with us, and I started to feel responsible for his appearance.  So, one day when I was going out to do errands, I offered to take him to a barber shop.

“No,” he did not want to do that.

I tried to tell him that his haircut was sub par, but he wouldn’t listen.

I then said, “You know, Dad, Mom is probably upset with me for not taking better care of you.”

Harrumph

“When I see Mom in heaven someday, she is going to say, ‘Why didn’t you take better care of my Fritzy?  Why did you let him run around like that?’”

Grumpy face reply:  “No, she won’t.”

Me:  “Yes she will.”

At this point in time, my Dad’s brother Roy was also cutting his own hair with similar results, so my next attempt was:  “You know, this is not a contest between you and Uncle Roy to see who can have the worst haircut.”

No response.

I sighed and thought.

“Please let me take you to the barbershop.”

He just slumped in his chair and stared at the floor.  I had seen him use this technique on high pressure salesmen.

So, I pulled out all the stops.  “Okay, Dad.  But when you die, I’m going to have the undertaker give you a nice cut, so you’ll look good in your coffin.”

He retreated to his room.

A short time later, I walked through the kitchen to leave via the back door.  Dad was sitting at the table with his jacket on.

“Are you coming with me, Dad?”

“Yes, you can drop me at the barber shop.”

He got a nice cut that day, but it’s not the end of the story.

Several years later, it was no longer safe for him to be alone while I was at work.  We moved him into a nursing home.  He died only six days later, but in those six days, he had discovered that he could get a free haircut at the nursing home.

So….there he was in the coffin with a brush cut.

As people came to the calling hours, some said, “Gee, I’ve never seen him with his hair that short!”

I shrugged and replied, “You know Dad….the cuts at the nursing home were free.”

I guess in the end, he got even with me.  The undertaker couldn’t give him the nice cut I had planned on, and the rascal also died on my anniversary.