Bald

It’s not an easy thing being a bald guy. There are numerous unspoken challenges that should warrant handicapped placards, plates and special access, but most of the fully “follicled” world just doesn’t seem to understand.   The goofs and insults come as people generally can’t help themselves and despite any sensitivity to the topic, they insist on offering their comments. I guess it’s an easy thing for them to pick on considering that most of us in this position have a beacon of a head illuminating, reflecting and calling to attention. It’s probably only a matter of time before some Youtube, reality based, and fame seeking goofball attempts to cash in by tattooing his head with a corporate logo for Taco Bell, The National Egg Council or Massingill. To be honest, no one has made more fun of my head than me. It ends up being a bit of a prop and my first strike comments may be a bit of a defense mechanism. I don’t mind being made fun of as long as it’s done by me. I want control over which I have had no control. My thinning was none of my doing and despite my longing for Sting and Bono to come and save my little rain forest, the deforestation continued to the point of complete desolation leaving the barren landscape that has remained.    

Some people are genuinely curious and ask different questions. The one I most often get is, “When did you start losing your hair?”  To which I jokingly respond, “As soon as I said, “I do”. When I said “I do” my hair follicles said, “We didn’t agree to this! We’re leaving.” Deb always affectionately responds, “Oh, they didn’t leave honey, they just moved down to your back.” Touché’, darling!

I’ll never forget the day that I actually decided to shave my head.  I was eating with one of my oldest and best friends, Ralph when he put down his sandwich and offered a bit of North End advice. The conversation went like this:

“We have to talk.”

“What about?”

“We need to talk about your head.”

“What about my head?”

“Look. You put up a good fight, but it’s all over.

“What?”

“And that salad thing that you’re doing in the back of your head, I don’t know what that’s supposed to be, but it bothers me.”

“That bad, huh?”

 It’s over man. Look, you’re a good looking guy and you’ve got a decent mug, so go home and just shave it off. Just end it.”

“Really, you think so?”

“All I know is tomorrow when I see you; I don’t want to see that thing anymore.”

And there’s the definition of a good friend. In all honesty I have had a number of those conversations, but I’ll save them for another day.  Needless to say, I did take his advice. That same Wednesday evening, when Deb went to work, our friend Rick who was a hairdresser at the time came over and cut it. Then he buzzed it. Then we shaved the whole damned thing off.

This, in typical Jack fashion was not well thought out. It was the middle of the week so there was no time to get used to it. It was also the middle of the winter so my head was white as snow and I resembled Lester Light Bulb. Also, I didn’t tell Deb I was going it. When she left work I kind of had a full head of hair. When she returned I looked like I was going through chemo.

When it was all said and done I went to clean the clippings which would have fit nicely into a small McDonald’s French Fries envelope. I had a plethora of emotions going through me. I was nervous to face the world with my new Shrek like appearance, especially everybody at work. I was excited because, well, it was kind of exciting. But more than anything I felt kind of liberated. The mystery of when and where it would end was over and it was what it was. The good thing was I could now enjoy the benefits of my sleek new appearance. Aside from the obvious aerodynamic improvements, I could now, without fear go swimming, agree to roll down the car windows, put the top down, frolic on the beach, or ride horses, much like the women on those commercials that boast that their women’s monthly protection devices, allow all types of fun activities without fear. Editor’s note: I tried like Hell to not write tampons, but it may have been funnier if I had.

You know how when you buy a new car, you start seeing the same one all over the place? It’s the same thing with the bald thing. Once I separated myself from the comb-over world, I saw that I was not alone and that I had a multitude of brethren in their uniforms. Uniforms you ask? Yes, the reality is that 99.9% of guys that shaved it away walk around with essentially the same look; cleanly shaved head and a goatee. I assume the goatee is some sort of half assed way of showing the world that we can actually grow hair above our necks, but most of the time I don’t wear one. I simply think it takes away from my boy-next-door looks. Editor’s note: Most goatees are actually Vandyke’s, but most people don’t know Dick about Vandykes…ba da da da da da da da da da da dum dump!

If by chance you find yourself in a similar situation, here are a couple of tidbits to consider, (in no specific order):

If you live where it’s cold, get a bunch of hats - The old myth is that most people lose up to 50% of their body heat through the top of their head. Well, you’re about to lose all of yours through your newly uninsulated noggin.  I wear a wool hat to bed during the winter time and despite my Ebenezer Scrooge appearance I find myself warm and toasty. This is a great birth control method as well, as this “way cool” look comes with an extra helping of celibacy.     

Leave a little scruff - This is one of those things they don’t tell you when you shave your head. If you go full on Mr. Clean, your wool hat has nothing to grab onto and will slip off like an ill-fitting condom (not that I would know about such things.) Last winter I was walking through downtown Boston and with each step my hat crept up off of my head little by little. I was not only humiliated, but really cold.

If you live in a place where it’s hot, make sure you wear sunblock. It’s bad enough that you’re bald; you don’t want to end up with a Gorbachev sized sunspot so you end up looking like a globe featuring Greenland.   

Lastly, don’t turn yourself into a caricature. Just because you have no hair it doesn’t give you license and it doesn’t help to start wearing goofy hats, loud shorts or whimsical t shirts that goof on your baldness. Don’t get vanity plates with playful acronyms or sayings, and no bowties…actually, that rule should go for everyone.