The guy using the electric razor and then the shaving cream and razor on you introduced himself as ‘Pops’. He’s a really big guy with a full bushy silver grey beard and long silver grey hair braided into a ponytail in the back. He puffs on his cigar as he removes the hair on your head.
“Son, you’re kinda sickly, ain’t ya?” Pops says in a sort of rhetorical way while he’s concentrating on your head. “Well, livin’ here with us will fix that. Got a full weight room down in the basement and we don’t skimp on food around here.” He chuckles and pauses as he rubs his beer belly. It make you laugh.
“I like you, kid. You remind me of Grizz when he was your age.” Pops says, admiring his work, now completed.
You ask, “Are you Grizz’ dad?”
“Damn right I’m his dad! He’s the eldest of five. Him and Wolf you already met and Snake is my youngest.” The grizzled old biker says. He kneels down and starts unbuckling the straps. “Yep, five kids. The rest of the bros around here are family too, but not blood related. They’re part of our club ‘The Brigands’ and everyone of them is like my son.”
He’s eye level with you when you ask. “Why did you name them after animals?”
Pops chuckles good naturedly again and says, “Well son, it was the sixties and early seventies and I didn’t want to give them fuckin’ nerdy names like Norman or Percy. Their real names are kinda ordinary cause my wife insisted on real names, but their middle names are fierce animals. There’s Grizzly, Wolf, Tiger, Bull and Snake. Them are my sons and I’m damn proud of the men they’ve become. All through school they got teased about their names, but it made them tough and they grew into those names.”
Pops smiles, a genuine warm smile. He’s rough looking, very weathered and showing his age, but he’s still powerfully built and strong. You imagine he’d go to his grave this way, not allowing age to rob him of his essence. You’ve never experienced someone this openly and truly friendly before and so honestly interested in you just for you.
“So li’l bro… what would you like to be called… You’ve had the initiation head shave, now you need to take a name; just don’t pick something sissy soundin’ like Percy… when you shorten Percy you get Purse!” He smiles at you.
“I dunno.” You say and he gives you a moment to think. “Rich?” You offer.
“That would be fine elsewhere, son, but here they’d call you Dick on purpose and you don’t wanna be a Dick do ya?” Pops says as he puffs away on his cigar.
You think some more and remember your real father’s father. Your grandfather was German, a big guy with a silver beard sorta like Pops only short and neatly trimmed. You remember the pictures and how ‘manly’ granpa Gustav seemed. He was a strict man, but loving too and very proud of you. “How about Gustav?”
“Sounds real foreign, son, but not bad if you shorten it to Gus; alright, you’re name is Gus!” Pops says. “You’ll have to grow into it of course, but I think you’ll manage.” Pops rubs your bald head and motions you to get out of the chair.
Pops walks you down the stairs into the living room. Some of the bros chuckle a little at seeing you. Suddenly in a booming voice Pops yells out, “Alright, everyone get your hairy butts in here, I got an introduction to make.”
The bikers take a few moments to cram into the room. It’s a big room, but there’s about thirty or so men trying to fit into the living room.
When everything is settled Pops begins, “I’d like to introduce our newest applicant for membership in the Brigands… Gus!”
There’s a few snickers here and there, but generally speaking the name is well enough received.
Grizz stands before you, with a beer in his hand. He raises it and says, “To Gus!”
The other men, even those that snickered raise their bottles and repeat, “To Gus!”
This is followed by general cheering and wolf howls.
You stand before these men extremely embarrassed and yet at the same time, you feel welcome.
This has been a very odd day.