My father recently remarked about how pleased he was with length of my hair. I remember when the same length provoked a very different reaction.
Like most boys in the 1970s, I argued endlessly with my parents about hair length. Everyone who was cool had hair down to their collars and over their ears. Dad never seemed to understand that. He just didn't want his kid to look like a hippie. Short hair cuts were mandatory. They were also $2.50.
In the 1980s, short hair became cool again. Through college and graduate school I conformed to the popular clean-cut, conservative look with locks just touching the tops of my ears.
In 1986 after frolicking in the waves of Fire Island, New York, I became vividly aware, through a severe cranial sunburn, that I was losing hair on the back of my head. The awareness intensified when the middle school girls I worked with started to sneak up from behind and trace my bald spot with their fingers.
In the mid 90s, I de-emphasized my baldness by shaving my head really short, almost to nothing. My father was appalled. He begged me to grow it longer. I looked like a skinhead.
But I loved driving with the windows down and not worrying about messing it up. I didn't comb or brush for several years.
And now, this year, I'm letting it grow out. It's down to my collar and over my ears. It curls slightly. I had to find my comb and buy a brush. I'm using "product" to keep it under control. There are lots of complements. My dad loves it.
And I'm paying $20.00 for a haircut at one of those chains - "product" sold separately.
Like most boys in the 1970s, I argued endlessly with my parents about hair length. Everyone who was cool had hair down to their collars and over their ears. Dad never seemed to understand that. He just didn't want his kid to look like a hippie. Short hair cuts were mandatory. They were also $2.50.
In the 1980s, short hair became cool again. Through college and graduate school I conformed to the popular clean-cut, conservative look with locks just touching the tops of my ears.
In 1986 after frolicking in the waves of Fire Island, New York, I became vividly aware, through a severe cranial sunburn, that I was losing hair on the back of my head. The awareness intensified when the middle school girls I worked with started to sneak up from behind and trace my bald spot with their fingers.
In the mid 90s, I de-emphasized my baldness by shaving my head really short, almost to nothing. My father was appalled. He begged me to grow it longer. I looked like a skinhead.
But I loved driving with the windows down and not worrying about messing it up. I didn't comb or brush for several years.
And now, this year, I'm letting it grow out. It's down to my collar and over my ears. It curls slightly. I had to find my comb and buy a brush. I'm using "product" to keep it under control. There are lots of complements. My dad loves it.
And I'm paying $20.00 for a haircut at one of those chains - "product" sold separately.
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