It was the year 1963, the times of the Beatles and the Rolling stones. Things were happening everywhere, except in the village where I lived. Never much happened there besides the common. Fortunately, we had television at home. When I listen to the news it seemed to me that young people, all over the world, were standing up, refusing to blindly follow the rules made by elders. Especially, in Amsterdam, youth started revolting against the authorities. And I felt one of them.
The most rebellious act one could do then, was very simple. You let your hair grow, just a bit, half way to your ears. Instantly every adult got against you. So that’s what I did. It was very strange how adults and teachers reacted. It looked liked it was one of the most worst thing someone could do.
In the eyes of the older generation and common people, long hair symbolized and was associated with laziness, untidiness, dirt and stubbornness. Every afternoon, when I passed the school gate leaving the school premises, I was warned by the principal if I did not go to the barber, I will be thrown out of the school. This went on and on till I finally told the Principal that he could not do me a bigger pleasure than to throw me out. From that moment he ignored me completely but the teachers stayed abusing and humiliating me.
At home it was not much better because I was the shame of the family. It was told if I did not go to the barber, I was not allowed to be in the house. But anyway, they also could not throw me out on the streets. They told me regularly that I was not one of them and that I took as a compliment because I really did not want to be like they were. So the atmosphere at home was far from pleasant. To my surprise, my older brother too made an attempt to let his hair grow over his ears but he got attacked by his own friends. They cut a big piece of his hair so that he had no other choice than to go to the barber. He never gave it another try and just followed the herd thereafter. I didn’t care that I had to listen to what they thought was funny, like, is your barber dead? Is your barber on holidays? Look out that you don’t step on your hair. Do you like to look like girl? Etc, etc. For me, growing my hair was a clear statement that I did not want to be one of them.
The most rebellious act one could do then, was very simple. You let your hair grow, just a bit, half way to your ears. Instantly every adult got against you. So that’s what I did. It was very strange how adults and teachers reacted. It looked liked it was one of the most worst thing someone could do.
In the eyes of the older generation and common people, long hair symbolized and was associated with laziness, untidiness, dirt and stubbornness. Every afternoon, when I passed the school gate leaving the school premises, I was warned by the principal if I did not go to the barber, I will be thrown out of the school. This went on and on till I finally told the Principal that he could not do me a bigger pleasure than to throw me out. From that moment he ignored me completely but the teachers stayed abusing and humiliating me.
At home it was not much better because I was the shame of the family. It was told if I did not go to the barber, I was not allowed to be in the house. But anyway, they also could not throw me out on the streets. They told me regularly that I was not one of them and that I took as a compliment because I really did not want to be like they were. So the atmosphere at home was far from pleasant. To my surprise, my older brother too made an attempt to let his hair grow over his ears but he got attacked by his own friends. They cut a big piece of his hair so that he had no other choice than to go to the barber. He never gave it another try and just followed the herd thereafter. I didn’t care that I had to listen to what they thought was funny, like, is your barber dead? Is your barber on holidays? Look out that you don’t step on your hair. Do you like to look like girl? Etc, etc. For me, growing my hair was a clear statement that I did not want to be one of them.