"Lineup"

Poem: Thanks for cutting my hair, dad

Note:

I grew up on Glassboro Avenue in Jamaica, Queens, New York—three relatively quiet blocks surrounded by a world of trouble. I only knew of two dads on Glassboro Avenue, one being my own. The rest of my friends didn’t have their dads around as I did. Up until around the age of 13, my dad had been my barber. He had his own set of clippers he would use to cut his hair and mine. At the time of writing this, I can still count on the fingers of both hands the number of times I’ve been to a barbershop. Even after all these years, I still have not seen my dad walk into a barbershop.

I reflect on it now and wonder why. When I went to the barbershop as a kid, it would be with my uncle or older cousins. Bootleg CDs, debates about Kobe Bryant or Allen Iverson, and the smell of talc powder filled the space. The barber would ask me what I wanted, and in my wannabe tough-kid New York accent, I would say, “I want a dark ceasar.”

Now, my dad would never give me a dark ceasar. I’m not saying he couldn’t do it, but in my mind, he didn’t know the lingo. The cuts with my dad were always referenced in numbers. He would ask me what I wanted, and I would reply, “Can I get a 3?” When I would look in the mirror after my dad cut my hair, I must say, it wasn’t better than the dark ceasar I would get from a barber, but he was always on point with maybe the most crucial piece of a Black man’s haircut, the lineup.

Like a licensed barber, he would take his time to achieve matchless precision on my head. He was tilting my head every which way to bring about the sharpest line he could create. It took a lot of effort and patience to cut my peanut head. I sometimes made the job harder for him because I couldn’t sit still. The best thing about having my dad as my barber was that he knew my noggin better than any other barber could. After all, he created my noggin, so my dad knew exactly how to cut against the grain on my hair. He knew how to cut the little cow lick at the crown of my head, but most importantly, he never pushed my lineup too far back. I think I always under-appreciated the details about haircuts from my dad.

Back in the day, barbers would mainly be concerned with getting the lineup straight with no regard for my natural hairline. Admittedly, I would leave the barbershop with my head looking like an art piece at first, but two days later, the aftergrowth had me growing stubble on my forehead. So, my dad would take his T-liner trimmer and go to work on my lineup after my cut. He knew where to start and where to stop. He understood the geometry of my natural line. He would say, “Hold still,” and let the buzzing drown out the remaining silence as we neared the end of the cut; he was focused. By the end of the cut, I had never had a straight razor-sharp hairline, but it was good enough. It was more than good enough.

I may have missed out on many cultural politics over the years for not consistently going to a Black barbershop. I also may have missed out on having the freshest cut when I stepped into P.S. 99 on a Monday morning. But, I did not miss out on having the loveliest cuts I could ask for from my Black barber, my dad.

“Lineup” by Cole Henderson

come here, son
you need a haircut
the clippers sound like a fly trapped in the blinds
"Hold still", my dad said palming my head
lambswool falling in my peripheral
 
I'm possibly the 3rd generation of Black Henderson men who have survived with regular at-home haircuts.
no music 
no politics
no religion
no cussin'

just silence and the buzz
still, my lineups would be tight
the lineup completes the cut
eventually, the hand, not as steady as it used to be 
now me in the driver's seat cutting my own hair 
the handheld mirror talking to the mirror on the wall asking,
who is that handsome Black boy?

trying to make sure that the hairline straight
a Black boy asks me,
"Yo Cole, who cut your hair?"
"I did"
the blank stare back at me understands and forgives my barber for his mistakes

crisp fades and clean edges are expected of me
but why?
oh, you know why
I push back on that
nowadays, it's either a buzz cut with no line-up 
or a crooked mini-fro
because 30 bucks for a cut is a crime
that 30 bucks is my therapy session

Black voices in an echo chamber, 
Black Community
I may visit the barbershop on occasion 
it's still a foreign land to me
did you know they make man weaves now?
yep, they can Picasso your lineup now

a fresh cut is nothing without its lineup 
and a brotha without a lineup is a woman deterrent 
well, for some (wo)men
a lineup like the Homestead Grays

a fresh cut and lineup for Black men is said to: 
give confidence 
transform the ugly 
protect his pride
the power to change a whole day

straight hairline, Jalen Rose, bzzzzz
straight hairline, 90s Steve Harvey, bzzzzz
straight hairline, LeBron James? Nah
there's something 'bout the straight hairline
if it's crooked, it's out of place
are you okay with that? 
 
Please
straight lines under a microscope aren't straight at all 
there's no such thing as straight

Mhmm
I love my crooked mini-fro
I think I'll get a fresh cut in October

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©Cole Henderson. All Rights Reserved.