Miriam was a teenager, doing typical teenage things. She was quite attractive, with long dirty blond hair that extended beyond her shoulder blades. Miriam’s mom seemed to be a bit bothered with the attention she started to receive from the boys. However, as her daughter grew up, Miriam’s mom felt like she had less control over her daughter.

Then one night, Miriam had gone to a party over at the house of a boy in her class. Her mom got a call at 3 AM and realized Miriam wasn’t home. She was down at the police station. The party Miriam had been attending had gotten a bit loud and out of control. Miriam had apparently been drinking and was loud and boisterous. Normally, she was a quiet young girl, so her mother was a bit shocked. She went down and took her daughter home. Though no charges were filed against her, the police sergeant had cautioned her that she should be more careful to find out where her daughter was and who she was with, etc. Miriam’s mom felt chastised, but grateful that Miriam was OK.

Miriam was coming down off her drunkenness and apologized to her mother. “I didn’t know what it was,” she cried, trying to explain how she was drinking alcohol. Her mom was furious. How could she, she thought. What did I do wrong?

During the next week, her mother thought long and hard about an appropriate punishment. It wasn’t until Friday as she was driving by a local barbershop that she had an idea. Quickly, she pulled in and went inside. There was a man sitting at the desk, who got up as she came in.

“Do you cut girl’s hair here,” she asked. The barber nodded. “Sure lady, seven dollars for a haircut. I have an opening right now.”

Miriam’s mother shook her head. “It’s my daughter. I wonder, can I make an appointment for her to have a haircut from you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” the barber replied. “I have an opening at 10:30 if you want to come by with her then.”

Miriam’s mother nodded. “I sure will,” she enthused. She went out and got in the car. As she drove home, she thought what sort of haircut Miriam would get. It needed to be something that would teach her daughter a lesson. What would work best?

As she sat at home, pondering how to get her daughter’s hair cut. She noticed a picture from the 1960’s in a magazine and the man in it was sporting a lengthy flattop. She decided on a flattop for her daughter at that instant. Shorter than the man had it. She went to Miriam’s room and told her she was taking her for a `trim’ of her hair the next day.

“But,” Miriam said. “I’m supposed to work with Anthony and Stella on our science project at the library tomorrow morning.”

Her mother was adamant. “No,” was the rejoinder. “You are coming with me to get a haircut. I made the appointment already. It’s too late to back out of it now.”

The next morning her mom got her up and started to brush her long hair. “I think it might look good if we had a bit more than normal taken off, don’t you?”

Miriam looked shocked. “No, mom. I like it like this.”

Her mom shrugged. “Just an inch or two can’t hurt, can it?”

“Please, mom,” Miriam cajoled her mother. “A trim is enough!”

Her mother smiled, knowing her daughter would not be prepared for her punishment. She brought her down the barbershop just before the appointment. She noticed the barber she had spoken to the day before. He waved and finished up a short crew cut on a young boy. As the boy thanked him and ran to his father, waiting to take him home, Miriam sniggered.

“What,” Miriam’s mother enquired. “What are you giggling about?”

Miriam pointed to the boy. “Imagine being so excited about looking so retarded. Having your hair that short is for losers.”

The barber came over. “My daughter’s here for her haircut,” her mother said. The barber motioned her into a chair and wrapped a cape around Miriam’s shoulders. “Ma’am,” the barber said, turning to Miriam’s mother. “What will it be?”

“I was thinking a flattop. A longish one.”

“Like a number 6 with #4 sides, maybe?”

“How long is that,” her mom asked. “A #6 is about three-quarters on an inch long,” came his reply.

“No,” cried Miriam as she overheard this. “I will not have my hair mowed off! I will look like such a loser!” Tears began to well up.

“I brought you home last week, drunk, from the police station. You will take whatever haircut I decide is best for you! Young lady, you need to be taught a lesson about drinking at your age and you’ve had it way too easy! You need to be taught a lesson!”

Miriam had never seen her mother so angry, or so determined. The barber pulled Miriam back into the chair. Miriam was so shocked, she sat, in a daze as the barber pulled a pair of electric clippers out, snapped on a black plastic attachment onto them. Great tufts of hair fell to the floor as the barber worked around the sides of her head. With each swipe of the clippers, two plus feet of hair fell off the side of Miriam’s head and settled on the floor. Miriam watched the cut, but could hardly believe it was happening to her.

The barber made short work of her hair, though to Miriam it seemed like forever. She was sporting a rough flattop when he was done. She could see some bare scalp through her short hair in the back.

The barber got her mom’s attention. “This about what you wanted, ma’am?” Miriam prayed her mother was going to let her off with just this level of humiliation. However.

“Shorter,” her mother said after looking it over. “Yes, definitely too long still.”

“What,” screeched Miriam. “Mom..I.”

“It looks retarded to have your hair so short? It’s for losers, is it? I don’t know when I taught my daughter to say such things.” She nodded to the barber. “Make it, uh, higher and tighter, I think they say?”

The barber nodded. “What about a #4 with #2 sides, tapered up?”

Miriam’s mother shrugged. “OK, let’s see what it looks like.” She stood nearby as the barber took a smaller plastic attachment, snapped it onto the electric clippers and began to work around the sides of Miriam’s head. More hair proceeded to drift down, in little spiral patterns as they rode the air currents. Miriam was too upset to notice or appreciate it, however.

“No,” her mother replied. “It’s still too long. Can you make it so it’s shaved on the sides?”

“Down to the skin, you mean,” the barber asked. Miriam’s mother nodded.

“Yes, down to the skin.”

A fresh deluge of tears from Miriam convinced her mother that this would be punishment enough. “Be glad I don’t tell him to shave you bald,” she hissed into her daughter’s ear. “Shave the sides, please” she told the barber.

The barber removed the plastic attachment, and began to cut directly into the brutally short hair Miriam had on the side of her head. Miriam couldn’t believe it and she could not stop crying.

The barber worked around much more carefully and made the top of her flattop drastically shorter. He used a #1 on it and it was very short. Towards the back of her head she saw bare skin coming through. Her hair never had been this short, ever. Was it a vicious nightmare?

The barber then applied a hot, wet towel. It was very uncomfortable. “It’ll feel a bit uncomfortable at first,” the barber told her. “But you’ll get over that pretty soon.” In just a few moments, it started to feel better, like the barber had said. Meanwhile he took some white foam into his fingers. As he removed the wet, steaming towel, Miriam felt the shock of cold air rushing against her and gasped. Her mother grinned as he began to apply the white foam around the sides of Miriam’s head.

Then, in the final leg of her complete demolishment, the barber took a razor and began to scrape it slowly up the sides of Miriam’s head. She just simply could not believe her mother had it in her to humiliate her this bad!

The barber seemed to work at an excruciatingly slow pace while he shaved the sides of her head. He finally stepped back and Miriam’s mother nodded her approval. “It’s short enoug
h, I think.” Finally, Miriam could stand up and survey the mounds of dirty blond hair surrounding her chair. Barely half an hour ago, it had been attached to her head.

The barber grabbed a digital camera and took a few pictures. “Sorry,” he said. “I never, ever gave a girl a flattop before. I hope you like it.”

“I hate it,” Miriam started to say, but her mother cut her off. “It’s fantastic! How often does she need to be here to keep it this way?”

“Well,” said the barber, “normally I’d say two to three weeks, but a week is better for keeping in neat, and tight.”

“We’ll see you next week, then,” Miriam’s mother said and they walked out. A boy sniggered at her. “Imagine,” Miriam heard him say, “a girl getting something like that! It looks so retarded for a girl to have her hair cut like that.”

Miriam’s humiliation was about as complete as she could imagine now. Then she felt the chill of fear: what would her friends say?

Be sure to watch for Chapter 2, “Miriam’s New Friend”