From Hair, the musical
The phone rang early (for me) this morning. I was asleep and didn’t hear the phone ring, but I did hear the message going onto the machine. It was time. Francine, who cuts my hair and keeps an eagle eye on it when she’s not cutting it, wanted me in the shop today.
This is always a setup for a little conflict because Francine (and her stylists who wrangle with my hair every day) like it short. My bosses like it short. My wife likes it long.
Given my druthers, I’d probably wear it long and naturally curly. On the other hand, for work, it’s easier for me and everyone else to have it short.
There is one part of getting my hair cut I actually enjoy. They shampoo my hair! Though I’ve usually just shampooed it myself, I’d never stop them – it’s just too good.
Hairwise (as well as all the other ‘wises’), I want to make Helaine happy. Every time it’s cut, she’s disappointed.
There was a time, in the late 60s and early 70s, I had hair down my back¹. Now I have hair on my back… and in my ears. Who knew I’d be cutting ear hair!
Hair is considered a sign of virility. Maybe that’s the real mistake.
People who no longer have youthful looking hair do whatever they can to fake it. Years ago I worked with a man (you’ve seen him on national TV thousands of times – that’s all I’ll say) who had thinning hair. Every day a hairdresser would bring him through intensive (hair)care, darkening his scalp with something that looked like charcoal and positioning each strand for maximum effect.
To see him on TV, you’d never know that he’s loosing his hair. Is it his natural color? Who knows?
People accuse me of coloring my hair all the time. The hairdressers tell me they’re asked all the time. Every once in a while I’ll get email about it, usually chastising me to stop doing it. This is my natural color, and though my gray is mostly invisible on TV, it’s getting easier to see in person. At the mirror I’m also noticing spots without quite as much coverage as I once had.
My dad used to wear a hairpiece. He looks better au natural. I know my mom would like him to start wearing the piece again.
Would the others in their South Florida condo think my dad had miraculously regrown it?
¹ – I have a photo of myself taken in 1969. Trust me – I was every father’s nightmare.