The first time my middle son came home from college, people didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t because he had gained 20 pounds or had controversial tattoos all over his body. It was because he had hair.
Repeatedly I heard, “Is that Robby? Ohmygosh, I didn’t recognize him with hair!”
That is because he had no hair at all during most of high school. In every picture we have of him, he is completely bald. He kept his head shaved to the scalp during wrestling season, and apparently that is the only time we ever photographed him.
He thought his skin head made him look frightening and intimidating on the wrestling mat. But I thought it made him look vulnerable and defenseless, like a newly hatched baby bird. Something about seeing the pale blue veins under his scalp and the exposed shape of his skull made me want to protect him from his burly, mop-headed opponents.
But it wasn’t my call. I knew better than to say, “Son, the shape of our ancestors’ skulls were never all that attractive, and you definitely look better with hair.”
It’s been over two years since a pair of scissors touched his head, much less an electric shaver. His hair is below his shoulders now and it is absolutely gorgeous. You wouldn’t understand my awe over his incredible head of hair unless you had a thin, limp, unruly head of hair like I do. My sister and my husband, both sporting full thick heads of vivacious hair, roll their eyes when I wax on about Robby’s hair. But my mother is on the same page as I am.
“What does he do to it to make it so thick and manageable? How does he make it curl just so, and hold it all day?” We query each other as we push our sparse, drooping strands out of our eyes.
When people ask me how this particular son is doing, I don’t tell them how he is doing in school or how hard he is working or what he did this summer. I tell them about the hair.
“What about your middle son?” someone might ask.
“His hair is really long and thick and it has a natural wave,” I respond without hesitation.
“Um-hum, I see. What does he do? Is he in school?” they might ask.
“Doesn’t matter. His hair is FABULOUS!”
My husband gives me the evil eye when I complement my son on his gorgeous mane. He doesn’t want me to encourage any more hair growth.
“He’s going to have to cut that hair if he wants to get a job,” my husband says to me.
But he doesn’t say a word about it to my son. My husband is a smart man. He knows there are all kinds of ways to assert one’s independence. Long flowing hair is the least of them.
(Ferris Robinson can be contacted at misstante@tvn.net)