I’ve always appreciated my hair. In saying this, what I mean is that it’s always done its job as far as I know. I’m pretty sure it’s kept my scalp from burning and provided a little bit of insulation for my brain during the winter months. When I was younger, I took a certain pride that only a young man growing up in New Jersey in the 1990’s could appreciate regarding the strands on top of my head. Higher and bigger was the order of the day. Then again, so were enormous lenses for those of us who hadn’t discovered contacts yet. I swear this stuff looked good at the time.
But contrary to what some might think (my brother included) I have never been in love with my hair nor have I held any grand designs that I would cheat the cruel hand of genetics and maintain my long flowing locks throughout my life. And in fact over the past ten years my hairline has receded to the point where I believe I could make a decent second income selling ad space. I understand that my forehead is visible from the Space Station. And I am not one to ever try to mask the signs of aging. At this point in my life I do not care that I’m getting old. I have the most wonderful wife and children who love me regardless of my appearance. If they aren’t enough, I am surrounded by literally hundreds of teenagers every day who think I’m the coolest guy they’ve ever met. It is especially gratifying that all of my male students look up to me and try to copy my sense of style. From the knot in my tie to my glasses, much smaller now and only occasionally worn since I did discover contacts; these guys delight in showing me when they’ve got one of my trademarked “looks” down pat.
This is why I think this next chapter is going to be pretty wild. In just a few days what hair is left is coming off. It will grow back, of this I am pretty certain. Why am I doing this, you ask? A very special lady, my mother-in-law Wilma, is going through chemo. This is, quite simply, a sympathy shave. But she needs no sympathy. No, I’m doing this because I want to go through this with her. I’ve been trying to prepare my kittens. I hope it won’t be traumatic for them to see both Granny AND Daddy go Telly Savales on them at once; but I know they’ll adjust. In the meantime, I’m going to say a prayer for her and for every patient enduring chemo around the world (especially little children who go through this shit) every morning when I look in the mirror and don’t see my blonde locks looking back at me. Whatever, I always kept it short anyway (except the aforementioned 90’s).
And finally, just for laughs, let’s take a look back at Harvey’s Hair… and pray for Wilma (and me)!