When I read this brief reminiscence about haircuts, I felt like I had to write a response. Here it is.
If my dad ever took me to a barbershop for a haircut, I can only remember one instance, and even that I'm questioning whether it really happened. I can see the dark wood floor and walls and a table of magazines, but my memory of this place seems more like a saloon from an old Hollywood western. The main reason why I distrust this memory is that dad didn't go to the barber. My mom cut his hair and the hair of us boys.
Mom continued cutting my hair until junior high, or so I'm guessing. Until this time I had a regular, plain haircut. Not a bowl cut but nothing styled or anything. She took me to the place where she had her hair done--which also cut men's hair, I protest--and gave me my first "real" hairstyle, which had *gasp* a part.
Effectively this is also the only "real" hairstyle I've had. Sideburns have been added to the mix since, but the rest has been pretty much the same and is to this very day. Short of shaving my head, which is the single viable alternative with my unfortunate prematurely receding hairline, it will be the only hairstyle I've ever had.
The fact that I've kept the same hairstyle all these years obviously means that I'm not (and never was) concerned about it being the only one. Having something else done just seemed too rash.
Going bald is another matter. I don't like it, but I'm resigned to it. Nature has chosen to thin out what's up top before its time, so although I wince when catching a glimpse of what it looks like, what can I do? Pretty much what I've done about my hairstyle all along. Nothing.