I finally gave in and surrendered. It was a hard and long fight, the battle has been on-going for three decades. I gave it my best but in the end, that just wasn’t enough. Reality slowly started to creep into my consciousness and late last week, I threw up my arms in capitulation. But I am left with some memories. To this day, when I swim and dive into the water, I come up and whip my head back for once such a move was required to keep my hair out of my eyes. But no more! Actually, whipping my head when I come up out of the water hasn’t been required since I was in my early or mid-20s. That was back in my Afro-days, when my hair was wild and crazy. After I decided military life wasn’t for me, I let it grow and grow. In my late twenties, when I received the last haircut by my hair stylist in North Carolina before moving to Pittsburgh for grad school, she took pity on me and charged me half price as a going away gift. But she couldn’t leave it at that; she then told me she only had to do half the work on my head. Do you think she got a tip? I didn’t think so. By the time I was in my forties, I was in full retreat. I kept my sides cut short. I had to keep the sides trimmed more and more to keep from looking like Bozo. I also began to collect caps and hats. Today, I have closet devoted to such head coverings. Last week, when I was having a trim, I told the barber to go ahead and cut the three curly hairs that still grew on the top of my scalp. I am afraid I will look like Jessie Ventura or whatever that wrestling guy who was in politics in Wisconsin or was it Minnesota. Do you know whatever happened to him, anyway? I know, I’m trying to change the subject!
|this is likely the only shot you'll see without a hat|