To us who are not inflicted with a disease or a treatment regimen that takes our hair, we spend an inordinate amount of time washing, conditioning, and coloring our beautiful locks. Unless we suffer from thinning hair (half of the men in the college class of 1991), we all just want to look good walking out the door every morning.
Bad hair days are a joke to some of us; however to others, they wish they could have that bad hair day. Children especially have a tough time adjusting to hair loss. The stigmatism associated with it at a young age causes all kinds of social issues. While children are generally more acceptable of things than adults, it only takes one person to make a crude remark and to hurt a child’s or even an adult’s feelings.
I was a young child in the nineteen seventies and my father was petrified of having a son with long hair. You see, my dad graduated high school in nineteen fifty six; he was of the crew cut generation and he did not want his first born son to be a hippie. Every three weeks, dear old dad would send me up the street to the beauty parlor no less, to get my magnificent hair chopped off. Well I say magnificent anyway, but what can you really get out of three weeks of growth? My friends thought I was in the military because of how many haircuts I used to get. Dad would proudly give me five dollars after every haircut I received as an, “allowance.” I know back then that five dollars every three weeks was pretty good allowance money and I took it with a big smile on my face, until I looked in the mirror of course.
In the mid eighties my hair made me look like a character out of the movie the Wedding Singer. I was known in my family as “mullet boy”. Everyone on my football team could be seen with their hair flowing out of their football helmets. Yes indeed, we were part of that mullet generation. It was the decade of no style. We all looked like the guy from the Flock of Seagulls. What on earth were we thinking?
Like the stock market the late eighties into the nineties proved to be a market correction or as we so here, a hair correction. My dad’s favorite haircut was back, the crew cut! Man was he ever happy about that. This time around I was not getting five dollars to cut my hair from dear dad, but I could tell he would have if I had asked for it.
I have literally kept the same style for twenty years. My hair is short, cropped, and it makes me pretty dashingly handsome to say the least. Ok, maybe not, but I am the writer of this column and I can dream I look good, right?
A few people I know, both male and female, have without fanfare have grown their hair to that ten inch mark to donate it to Locks of Love. I am so proud of them and I hope that their efforts will put a smile on someone’s face. I am sharing my experience in the hope that I can bring attention to this wonderful cause, even though I am returning to my eighties “mullet boy” persona. Hey, maybe I can get a part in The Wedding Singer II.
Look up locksoflove.org
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