I'm 59 years old and I've had short hair all my life.
When I was a wee little bastard my hair was kept short because it was the easiest way to maintain it. Because mom cut our hair, short hair was the obvious choice. After all, buzzing a kid's hair into a blond toothbrush was not rocket science.
In the late sixties and early seventies I wanted long hair so badly. I wanted to belong to the counter-culture that was booming at the time. I remember one time leaving Massey's, our local grocery store with my family, and out front, talking with someone was a guy that had hair that was easily mid-way down his back.
"Ha, would you want hair like that?" my dad asked with disdain, obviously meaning to ridicule the man to me.
"No," I answered simply. I was too chickenshit to say any different. I knew what he expected to hear. Inside, however, it was anything but the right answer. I wanted that hair. I wanted to be that guy. Badly. I wanted to have hair that spoke out and said, "Fuck you people! See this? I'm not afraid to be different!"
Not long after that, in an effort to escape my family and strike out on my own, I joined the Air Force. When that happened, my hair was cut even shorter. I couldn't win. Six years later I was discharged, and wouldn't you know it--long hair was no longer in style.
I felt like I missed the whole damn thing.
Daring to be different, I grew my hair out anyway. It got fairly long, but because my hair is not very straight, it didn't hang down and behave. I didn't consider how it looked really--I just wanted to grow my hair long. That all changed one day when I saw a reflection of myself in the window of the car dealership I worked at. What I saw on top of my head looked like a shorter version of Roseanne Roseannadanna's hair. I was mortified. I was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that I looked completely stupid. That sudden realization was likely made worse by the worn out Mickey Mouse baseball cap I was wearing at the time to keep it under control. Anyway, I was struck with a kind of confusion--like I didn't even really know who I was or where I was going.
I turned conformist.
Years went by. I got regular haircuts like people do, annoyed that I had to pay money for something I didn't want in the first place. I treated haircuts like a necessary evil. When I got married to my second wife I was ecstatic to learn that she knew how to cut hair. Now I didn't have to pay for haircuts! I didn't have to even get dressed for one!
When we divorced last summer I began to rethink things. I realized that during that marriage my hair had, slowly but surely, become shorter--almost to the point it was during my childhood. When that realization hit me, I started doing things differently. I am becoming reacquainted with my hair. It's very gray these days, but I still have all of it. Now I celebrate my hair and treat it with some respect. (I have learned the value of conditioner!) Even in a car with air conditioning I have always preferred to drive with the windows down, and now my hair blows around when I do so.
Better late than never.
