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Ramblings about the world and myself |
| “All the same old cliches, "Is that a woman or a man?”" Bob Seger “He’s got a beard, Marge!” George Carlin Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young: Almost Cut My Hair The Cowsills: Hair Five Man Electrical Band: Signs When my sons were young teenagers, I noticed that their hair was inching its way down over their collars. As I considered myself a proactive, hands on parent, and having some experience in the subject, I realized that it was time to have a talk with them. I would never be such a hypocrite as to forbid my boys from growing their hair out. I did think it necessary to explain to them about what they were letting themselves in for. I told them that when a man wears his hair long, he is making a statement, whether or not he means to. Any man who chooses to do this risks negative assumptions, judgement and treatment. Employers, police and regular people all look at him differently. Both of my sons decided to grow their hair. Adam, my oldest son, has his head shaved on both sides with a long Mohawk hanging like a ponytail almost to his belt. Justin, my younger son, has his hair hanging well past his collar, with a set of sideburns and muttonchops that would do General Burnside himself proud. My seventh grade picture shows a short haired nerdy looking kid with horn rimmed glasses. I got a look at that picture, and knew that wasn’t who I wanted to be. I got a cooler pair of glasses and started to grow my hair. Now I proudly wear my hair over my shoulders and my full beard hangs to the fourth button on my shirt. My hair and beard have caused me some trouble over the years. In school, one of the teachers used to call me “Miss Thomas”. He was mostly alright, so I think he was joking. After I became an adult, I had some trouble from the police. Once I was standing at a bus stop in front of a little bar. All of a sudden, I was surrounded by four cops. One of them asked if I was causing trouble in the bar. They kept me from catching the bus, which put me behind on what I needed to do that day. I remember people staring at me from the bus. It was embarrassing. Finally the bartender stuck his head out of the door and yelled “He’s in here!”. Of course, the police knew that it had to be the long haired hippie causing trouble. I think that the one thing that bothered me the most was when my aunt asked me to cut my hair before going to my mother’s funeral. I didn’t do it. It would have been hypocritical. My mother didn’t mind my hair when she was alive. I am sure that didn’t change. My hair and beard are very much a part of my identity. I plan to proudly wear it to my grave unless it falls out.  |
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