HAIR TODAY, GONE TOMORROW

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 114

For those who might want to argue that God doesn’t have a sense of humor, I’d contend otherwise. I mean, have you ever considered the average human male over the age of 50?

When most of us are young, the Creator blesses us with a head full of hair. But then, sometime after the age of 40—give or take a few years—the hairline recedes. Or worse yet, it reverses direction and shoots forth from other parts of the body.

Have you ever seen an old man’s eyebrows? From within them sprout wiry, antenna-like hairs that are strong enough to use as violin strings—either that or they were designed to signal alien life. I don’t know. Ask God.

Then there are the ears and nose. From them begin to protrude bushels of hair that one might confuse with corn silks. God must be up there in heaven laughing, watching us try to manage these thick thickets which grow denser with every passing year. (Seriously, who remembers Andy Rooney’s eyebrows?)

Ladies, a side note here: No man in his right mind would ever deny the pain and torment y’all endure in childbirth. Goodness, squeezing something the size of a watermelon from a space that small… yeah, ouch! That said, just be thankful you don’t have to yank those pesky “antenna” hairs from your nose. Oh, my heavens—instant tears! I don’t know what can bring a grown man to his knees faster than that.

For all these reasons, God has given unto us the hair stylist; and I am forever grateful I married a woman who spent the first half of her career doing just that. For the past 33 years, I don’t think I’ve had to pay for a haircut once. For the longest time, my girls needed only to pull up a chair to "Mama’s Divine Hair Salon." I can’t tell you how many thousands of dollars we’ve saved in treatments—or how many hours she’s invested in making us all look presentable.

Being a man over 55 whose hair is going by the wayside, keeping the noggin looking neatly trimmed is more of a nuisance than anything else. Ever since serving in the Navy, I’ve never enjoyed having long hair. And now that it’s decided to grow straight upwards and refuses to lay flat, my hairline begins to resemble Bert from Sesame Street, Beaker the Muppet, or a Chia Pet.

So, after days of dropping hints, I finally begged my wife to bring out the handheld hedge trimmer and mow down the dome. Oh my goodness, y’all, it feels so nice to have that mound of hair shaved down. You should’ve seen the pile on the floor. It was HUGE! (Okay, in my dreams).

Not only that, but she was kind enough to separate the unibrow into two distinct brows again, while also removing the protruding alien transmitters and corn silks from my ears. Ah… I feel human again.

Today, I am thankful for my wife and all those who have her skill set. She makes me feel good and look decent in public. Without her, I’d have to wear a ball cap for the rest of my life—because nobody wants to see my hair when it’s shooting straight up toward the heavens.