You see, I had sported a so-called burr haircut for nearly all of my life until I turned thirteen and finally put my foot down and insisted that I be allowed to grow my hair longer (it was the time of the Beatles, for crying out loud). Both my mom and Elton, the lady who regularly cut my hair, didn't think I could ever train my hair to lay properly because I had a double crown in back and a semi-cowlick in the front. But I just had to grow longer hair, and try to be cool. So Mom worked tirelessly on it, combing, brushing and training it. By the time I was Junior I had a nice head of hair, and a very stylish sweep of bangs across my forehead (inspired by JFK, of course).
Considering how diligently I had worked at convincing my folks to allow me to grow longer hair, and how hard I worked at training it to lie flat, it is truly amazing that I willingly had it all cut off. Even now I am not entirely sure why I did it. No one sported buzz cuts in those days, which makes my doing that even the more surprising. How it came about was like this: I was walking along Court Square in Harrisonburg one quiet Saturday morning and stopped to watch the barbers in a basement shop cut hair. I saw a fellow in the chair get all of his hair cut off, and I became fascinated with wondering how that would feel. I walked on down the street, then suddenly turned and went down to the barber shop. When my turn came to get in the chair the barber asked me how I wanted it cut. I still remember my answer, "Take it all off." "All?" he asked. "Yes," I said, "Just like that last fellow."
"He got his cut because he is leaving for bootcamp and he wanted me to do it, not the Army. Are you on your way to bootcamp?"
"Nope," was all I said. And then I felt the clippers go to work. As I sat there I saw huge chunks of my beautiful hair fall all around me. When I looked at myself in the mirror I immediately wanted to turn back the clock and not get it done. But, that was not possible, and I steeled myself for the days and weeks ahead.
My folks were very unhappy with my new haircut. And by the time of the dance that night I was not sure I wanted to go. But, I was supposed to meet Steve and our friends Betsy and Louise there, so I knew I had to go. I entered as quietly as I could, and came over to where the three of them were standing. I had stood - unrecognized - for six or seven minutes when Steve asked the others, "Where is that Jimmy?"
"Here I am!" I said. They were totally shocked, and Steve was the first to recover enough to say "You look like a bird!" At first Louise didn't want to dance with me, but she finally did. As people around the room began to recognize me I became sort of a sensation, and Steve told everyone that I was now "Bird" Harris.
My hair grew back and I went off to college (VCU) to study art. Even though I no longer had short hair the nickname followed me, and was spelled with an "i" until a girl named Nancy changed it to a"u" which she thought would be more unique and infinately cooler.
It was how I signed my artwork. Later in the Navy it continued as my nickname. I gave it up when I married my first wife because she did not like it, feeling that it was of my "old" life (before my decision for Christ). And that is why I don't use it now. However, many of my old high shool, college and Navy friends still call me Burd. And that's okay with me.
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