Amy Gallop is a sophomore at Hopkins High School and is in confirmation class at Bet Shalom. Her favorite sport is softball. She plays on the high school team and one or two other teams, depending on the time of year. This year, she joined the cross country team. Another hobby is theatre. She has been participating in shows and classes since kindergarten. One of her interests that she would consider pursuing is journalism. Her interest in writing was sparked in second grade and she has been hooked ever since!
Prose, Grades 10 - 12: Third Place
Barbie Doll Barber Shop - Amy Gallop
The clicking of the blade of my dull safety scissors against my clients’ lifeless, coarse hair was, to me, irresistible. When I was about seven years old, I made a hobby of hacking off my dolls’ hair. I would call my naughty custom, “Barber shop.” Whenever I found an unsuspecting subject lying around, out came the cape and scissors and off came the long locks of hair. I would lop off ringlets from Barbies, rag dolls, American Girl Dolls, and even little porcelain dolls. This pastime of mine would make my mother crazy. Besides the fact that I would leave hair everywhere, some of my clients had been very expensive Hanukkah presents.
One gray, fidgety Sunday afternoon, after all of my dolls had “fashionable” pixie cuts, I decided it was time I put my practicing to the test. So, I grabbed my pink, plastic safety scissors, and my first living client, my naive little brother, Josh. As quietly as a wobbly second grader could, I led him into our small downstairs bathroom and dunked his head into our sink until his curly, blonde hair was sopping wet. My adrenaline was pumping as I sat him down in my makeshift barber’s chair, the toilet seat, and went to work. I hacked and chopped as his magnificent, curly locks floated gently onto the yellowing, linoleum floor.
After about fifteen minutes, I decided his new hairstyle was complete, not by the quality of my work, but because I was fed up with the fact that every time my client moved his head, his hairstyle became extremely lopsided. I tiptoed outside to play, leaving my brother in the bathroom. Once the adrenaline rush wore off, the reality of what I had done, and the fact that I could potentially receive severe punishment, set in. I took refuge on the comfort of my plastic, red swing, biding time until my inevitable encounter with my mother. I could hear the wrath in my mother’s voice as she yelled my name.
I crossed my fingers and prayed with all of my heart that my mom would have mercy on me, or maybe she would see the humor in my offense. It turned out that, unlike what a child is brought up to believe, praying does not always help. My mom yelled so deafeningly that all of Minnesota had to endure her rampage. If not for my dad, who found the whole mishap funny, I might not be here today.
It turns out that Josh had preschool pictures the next day. My mom rushed him to a real barber shop to fix the damage I had done to his hair. I have to admit that was probably his worst school picture. Even though my mom was furious at me, my brother seemed to like short hair. Every year since he first came to my barber shop, just as the lilacs begin to bloom, Josh gets a buzz cut. At least I made the client happy! After my feeble attempt with human hair, I decided I was not ready for my promotion and I resumed my lowly position at the Barbie Doll Barber Shop.