THE TIME HAS COME
Mark Blickley
It was time for Johnny’s first real haircut. Johnny’s father said it was time. So did Johnny’s mother. The only person who did not think it was time for a real haircut was Johnny. He did not want to go to the barber shop.
Johnny liked having his parents cut his hair. It was fun. It allowed Johnny to play a secret game that no one else knew about. But that all ended yesterday when Johnny sat on the bathtub rim while his father stepped inside the bathtub, behind Johnny. Mother walked into the bathroom carrying an empty soup bowl, a dish towel and a pair of scissors.
Mother handed the scissors to Father. Then she turned the soup bowl upside down and placed it on Johnny’s head. The bowl made Johnny giggle. He felt as if his mother was placing a crown on his head. A king’s crown.
Mother then draped the dish towel across his shoulders. Johnny imagined she was presenting him with a royal robe. So Johnny nodded his head in a royal thank you to his mother.
“Stop moving,” said Father. “Do you want me to cut your hair crooked?”
“Sorry,” the boy answered. That’s some way to speak to a king, thought Johnny.
Father snipped away at the hair sticking out from the soup bowl. Johnny watched small clumps of his hair drop on to the dish towel.
With the crown on his head and the robe across his shoulders, Johnny felt like a powerful ruler. He thought of these clumps of hair as his tiny subjects.
Every month he allowed some of his subjects to leave the royal kingdom of his head. But only the ones that had been good for the entire month. The clumps of hair that didn’t get messy. The ones that had stayed in their place and didn’t need a brushing.
“Go on. Leave. I give you permission,” whispered Johnny, as small clumps of hair dropped from his head.
One clump of hair was afraid to leave. They clung to Johnny’s neck. And they were mad.
“How dare you kick us out of our home in your head!” they yelled up at Johnny.
“But I’m the king,” answered Johnny. “And you must leave. The time has come.”
Father frowned. “Will you please stop mumbling, son? It’s hard enough to cut hair when you’re completely still.”
“Sorry,” said Johnny.
“You can’t get away with this!” shouted the angry clump of hair.
“Ouch!” Johnny cried out.
“What happened?” asked Mother. “Did your father hurt you?”
“I did not hurt him,” said Father as he pulled away his scissors .
Johnny shook his head. “It’s the hairs on my neck. They itch.”
Mother quickly dipped a washcloth in cool water and wiped away the hairs on Johnny’s neck. “Does that feel better?” she asked.
Johnny nodded.
“That does it,” said Father. “From now on, young man, you’re going to get your hair cut at Mr. Bright’s barber shop. I don’t care about the cost. I’m dropping you off there tomorrow.”
That night Johnny could not fall asleep. Every time he shut his eyes all he could see was the huge window in front of Mr. Bright’s barber shop. Johnny hated that window. He had to pass it every week when his mother took him to the babysitter.
Even though Johnny hated the window he would always look inside as he passed by. He couldn’t help himself. And what he saw always frightened him. A bald-headed man with a bushy moustache named Mr. Bright was always chopping off somebody’s hair. Johnny had seen men, boys, girls, and even a lady get their hair cut off inside that window.
The following morning Father took Johnny to Bright’s Barber Shop. Johnny was very nervous. He tried not to show it. When his father told Mr. Bright that he had to leave to pick up some groceries, but would return after Johnny’s haircut, the boy wanted to cry.
“It smells funny in here,” said Johnny.
Mr. Bright lifted up his arm and sniffed. “Well, it’s not me, Johnny. I took a bath this morning. It must be the smell of excitement.”
Johnny watched Mr. Bright chew on the tip of his bushy moustache.
“May I offer you a seat, Johnny?”
“Okay,” said Johnny.
Mr. Bright led Johnny to a huge, shiny chair with a puffy leather seat.
“It looks like a throne!” squealed Johnny.
Mr. Bright smiled. “It is, your Majesty. We’ve been expecting you for a very long time.
Johnny giggled and held out his royal hand. Mr. Bright took Johnny’s hand, bowed his head and helped the boy into the large barber’s chair.
“Are you comfortable, your Majesty?” asked Mr. Bright.
Johnny nodded his head.
“Would his Majesty like to go higher?”
“What do you mean go higher?” asked Johnny.
“Your throne has a pump in the back that can lift your royal seat,” answered Mr. Bright. “After all, everyone would like to get a better look at the king. “
“Wow!” said Johnny. “I want to go up.”
Mr. Bright bowed and pressed a pedal attached to the back of the chair with his foot. Whoosh! The chair jumped up.
“Higher. I want to go higher!” giggled Johnny.
“Very well, Sire,” said Mr. Bright. He pumped the pedal six more times. Johnny felt as if he were growing with each pump. He could now see his face in the mirror.
“That’s as high as it goes, your Majesty.”
“I like it, Mr. Bright. That was fun.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mr. Bright. “Now that everyone can see you you must wear something special. Something befitting a king!”
Mr. Bright opened a drawer underneath the mirror and removed a large white cloth. He shook it. Then Mr. Bright swirled the cloth around Johnny’s chair like a magic flying carpet. He quickly snapped the flying carpet around Johnny’s neck.
“Here’s your royal cape, your Highness,” said Mr. Bright.
“But a cape’s supposed to hang over my back, not my front,” replied Johnny.
“Ah, but your Majesty, when you’re sitting on your throne no one will be able to see your cape if you’re leaning against it. This way it will be visible to all.”
Johnny nodded his head in approval.
“You know, Johnny . . . I mean your Highness, most pictures of kings usually shows them with a beard.
“I know,” said Johnny. “A white beard. But I’m too young for one.”
Mr. Bright studied Johnny’s face. He bit down on his moustache. “Aha!” he shouted. “I have an idea!”
Mr. Bright ran over to a funny looking machine and pressed a button. Out came a huge gob of shaving cream that he caught in his hand. “Here, let me show you a trick, your Highness.” Mr. Bright carefully traced around Johnny’s mouth and chin with the warm shaving cream.
Johnny couldn’t believe what he was seeing in the mirror. He had a beard. A beautiful, warm, white beard. Johnny not only looked all grown-up, but he really did look like a powerful king sitting high on his throne, wearing a fine cape.
“Now in order to take your royal portrait you’ll have to practice by sitting very still and not moving,” said Mr. Bright.
“Okay,” said Johnny.
“Can you move your head down a bit,” asked Mr. Bright. Then he took out a pair of scissors and quickly cut Johnny’s hair.
Johnny didn’t move an inch. He was too busy staring at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t believe it was his own face looking back at him, the face of a strong and wise king.
By the time Johnny’s father re-entered the barber shop, Mr. Bright had wiped all the warm, white cream off Johnny’s face and was shaving the back of his neck with an electric razor.
“All done,” declared Mr. Bright. Father lifted Johnny off the barber’s chair.
“How did he behave?” asked Father.
“Like a prince,” said Mr. Bright. “No . . a king.”
Father raised his eyebrows. “A king? What do you mean?”
“Listen,” said Mr. Bright. “Any boy who can walk in here and not be afraid or cry over their first haircut is a brave guy. A lion-hearted kind of guy. And the only people I know who are called lion-hearted are kings.”
“This is my kingdom, Daddy,” said Johnny.
Father looked at Johnny, then at Mr. Bright, and shrugged.
“So long,” said Father as he guided Johnny towards the door.
Mr. Bright waved at Father and then bowed to Johnny. “Farewell, Johnny - the Lion Hearted. You’ll be missed.”
Johnny smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “When the time has come I’ll be back.” And then he disappeared out the door with a long and graceful stride.
