Well, here I sit waiting for mother.

For the first time the bathroom seems larger than ever.

She has told me more times than I can remember, "Do NOT put your hair in your mouth. If, you continue to eat your hair I will be forced to cut it ALL OFF", her motherly voice would command.

I have been doing it for so long and nothing was done to me, so why now?

Looking up from where I was sitting I saw mother bring in a tall stool. She placed it in the front of the large mirror across the wall of the bathroom sink and counter. The one everybody looked into when they brushed their hair or teeth. Even daddy used it to watch himself shave his face every morning. Pointing to the stool she told me, "Get yourself comfortable young lady. I will be back with the clippers".

She turned and walked out going to her bedroom. I climbed up on the stool, looking at myself in the mirror. I did not know if I was to cry or not. I was loosely swinging my feet when I heard mother’s footsteps.

"Go back down stairs", she called to someone. Was it my little brother, my little sister, or my dad? Whoever it was they did not say a word, just turned around and went back downstairs.

She put down, on the counter top, a black object and opened the medicine cabinet. A can came out first, the one dad got white stuff from when he shaved his face, and was put down in front of me. As she was closing the cabinet she put two small blue things next to the can.

I looked at them again, daddy called them ‘a can of shaving cream and safety razors’. He …..He uses them to shave his face and mother used them to shave her legs and underarms.

She was going to use them to shave me. But, where was she going to shave me!

Being thirteen she must be going to show me how to shave my legs. The hair on them were getting dark, and she told me she "would show me how shave them when the hairs got this dark". I did not have hair under my arms, so they would have to wait.

"Well, young lady …..

"You were warned about chewing on your hair. Both your father and I asked you to stop doing it, but you continued eating it. I have told you a number of times what I would do if you did not stop," she told me as she plugged a cord into the wall. "Maybe when your friends see you with your head shaved you, and they, will learn".

I was looking at her, almost with tears I tried to tell her ‘I would not do it again’, when she turned the clippers on. I wanted to jump off the stool, but she was standing next to it and blocking my way out. Would daddy come to my rescue if I called to him.

"John …..John" she called out to him "Do you have anything to say to Annie before I shave her head".

She waited, I waited, for him to reply. He stuck his head in as he walked past. He looked at me, shook his head, told her "NO", and walked away. I could not believe it, my father did nothing. I was the ‘apple in his eyes’, his little ‘redhead’. Was I no longer his friend?

She placed her hand on top of my head, turned it so I was watching. "You?re going to watch the whole thing. Your hair being clipped off, your head being shaved. Then, maybe you will remember not to eat on your hair when it grows back", she said.

I tried to move my head so not to look, but before I could she was pushing the clippers over the top of my head. She knew how to use them, because she cut my brother and dad’s hair with them. She never used them to cut mine and Sandi’s hair, only scissors.

I could not believe my mother was doing this to me. I would be BALD, BALD like my grandfather.

Mother did not look at me, she kept her eyes on what she was doing. My hair was falling to the floor, on me. It was falling from my head.

She finished the right side and walked to the left side. She put the clippers to work on the left side like she did the right side of my head. Before I could cry she had my head tilted down and was pushing the clippers up the back of my neck and head.

After a few strokes she let go of my head and turned the clippers off and placing it on the counter. She brushed my head with her left hand. I looked at myself in the mirror, I wanted to cry. But, it was too late.

She picked up the can of shaving cream and sprayed a pile of it on the top of my head. She circled my head with the cream as it came out the can. When enough was on my head she put the can down and started spreading it over my head. In front of my ears, behind my ears, and down the back of my head and neck. I looked like I had white hair like my grandmothers.

I started laughing at how I looked, but mother just looked at me in the mirror not saying a word.

She picked up one of the razors and started shaving the back of my head and neck. As she shaved short strokes I thought how different I would be from my girlfriends. Now I would have my hair cut as they talked about doing themselves.

Was my mother doing me a favor, or was this punishment?

For sure I was going to put this to my favor.

She was now reaching over the top of my head shaving backwards from my face to the back of my head. I begin to count the strokes of the razor, ‘one, two’ three, …..’. It took her ten strokes to shave the top of my head. All that was left was the sides.

I was beginning to enjoy my haircut, but I did not want her to know it. So, I put a sad look on my face, one of disappointment that she was doing this to me, her first born.

She begin shaving behind my right ear. Taking shorter strokes to catch every hair.

Would she show me how to shave my legs and underarms afterwards? The razor was now shaving the left side of my head, soon my head would be shaved BALD. NO hair on my head to eat.

When she took the last stroke, she rinsed the razor under the faucet and wet her hand. She ran the wet hand over my head, stopping when she felt unshaven hairs. Quickly she shaved the little hairs away. After doing this a few times she put the razor to rest.

She reached for a towel and begin wiping my head of the shaving cream left behind.

"O.K., ….. I hope you understand this was done for a reason. We got tired of telling you over and over not to chew on your hair. This seems to be the only way to stop you from doing it. Maybe your sister will think twice about chewing on hers", mom said wiping her hands.

I sat there looking at my "hair cut"!

She stepped back, pointed to the door, "Go down stairs and show your sister and father. Ask him if I got your head smooth enough". Sliding out the stool I looked at her with sad eyes.

She started cleaning the counter as I walked out. I took a deep breath and went down stairs.

I could not wait to call Gail and Susan to tell them, "My mother had given me the hair cut they wanted. And, that I did not have to ask her to do it".

But, I am not going to tell them why I got my head shaved.

NOW, how could I talk my parents into letting me keep my head SHAVED!

The End Copyright (c) January 2003