The Giants are Stoic

My Dad took us to get haircuts.
The barber put a board across the chair.
To lift me up a little bit higher,
before he cut my hair.

Clink, clink, clink went the scissors.
He pushed my head, here and there.
When he swiveled me around,
I could see my brother, in the other chair.

 Brylcream, talcum and hairspray filled the air. 
The barber put his hand over head and turned it,
and buzzed-off the rest of my hair.

We took it like men, no whining, no tears.
The barber took off my smock, put away the shears.
He took a little shaving brush
brushed the hairs behind my ears.

My dad says, Giants are stoic.
They don't make a peep
Even a traumatic experience,
getting sheared like sheep.