The Hair

As you can, or can’t see in the picture over there, I shaved my head this past weekend. Not all the way with a razor, but down as far as you can go with a pair of clippers. My mother in law had already lost her hair due to the radiation therapy she’s been receiving and I got it into my head that I wanted to get some pictures taken of us baldies in the family, what with the fact that one of my brothers in laws sports that cut already as well.

Sweetie’s side of the family tends to make a bigger production out of Easter than my side of the family, in that they actually have a get together, so it seemed like the perfect time to get my hair cut and get all the pictures taken.

I have for the most part, since the early 80’s, gotten my hair cut by Sharon, at Napoleon’s Barber Shop. Though Earl, the owner of the shop at that time, was technically the first person I allowed to cut my long hair off, Sharon was the one who perfected the mullet that enabled Sweetie to fall madly in love with me. Sweetie likes to say it was the guitar, and like a said a few weeks ago, the guitar absolutely played into it, but it was also the hair. I had a devastating one-two punch, nodoubtaboutit.

It took Sharon a bit of convincing to finally get the clippers out and do the whole thing. In fact she needed to take it in stages, putting on one of those clipper covers that only allows you to shave so close. Once we got it down that far though, she seemed to have a pretty good time going the rest of the way.

I don’t hardly mind the short hair at all, with one exception. My head tends to get a lot colder and I find myself walking around with my shoulders scrunched up, trying to keep the wind off the back of my neck—makes me look like a hunchback or something.

The family’s reaction to it had been pretty interesting. Sweetie’s not taken much notice of it one way or another, the Older Boy likes to sit next to me rubbing the top of my head, and Ike, who first seemed to notice it Sunday night while I was playing my guitar, now occasionally stares and laughs.

Sweetie’s mom was pretty surprised and she had no problem ditching the wig to get some pictures taken with the brother in law and me. Monday she started the Chemo back up and I haven’t talked to her to see how she’s feeling yet. She’s a pretty tough lady and though I know she will fight hard, I think we all realize that there most likely won’t me many more Easters to take silly pictures of our bald heads together.

Looking back on it now, I wish we had painted our scalps all the colors of the rainbow—smiling into the lens like a happy, though misplaced pile of eggs, inadvertently left behind on a cool spring day near the end of March.