A History of Hair: The Long and the Short

Many who have known me in my past ten or so years would have a hard time believing that my hair has ever truly been short. But it has. I offer you compelling photographic proof:

Exhibit A: I am born bald

Exhibit B: I am one–and still bald

Exhibits C and D: I begin to grow hair in my second and third years of life.

Exhibit E: I am bald

My older sister, then almost five, began her haircutting career with a bang. She cut my hair and her own. No doubt she was excited to debut our ‘do’s at my uncle’s upcoming wedding (2 weeks away).

We were driven off to the barber’s to get our first non-Mom cuts. When we were done, we looked a little better, but still like little boys. I suppose I was lucky–at least they could get mine all even. Anna’s hair was clipped to about half an inch–but still had gashes all about. The only way they could have completely fixed her hair was to shave it all off and start over.

My cousin tells us of looking in her birthday party photos from about 6 months later and asking her mom why there were two little boys at her party with the rest of the girls. Anna remembers being mortified at having to wear a big floppy bow over her head at my uncle’s wedding. I don’t really remember the event that much. I guess it wasn’t that big of a deal to me (or something).

At any rate, I did get over it eventually–and my hair did grow back. It took a year and a half–but I would look like a girl yet again.

Exhibit F: My hair grows back

Lest you get the wrong impression about my sister’s hair-cutting skills, I will clarify. She and Mom now tie as the most adept hair-cutter’s in our family. Both are highly in demand. I, on the other hand, rank a distant third after almost cutting off my brother John’s ear (never try to cut the hair of a squirrelly eight year old, no matter how hard he begs). Now, I can cut a half-way decent crew, and can operate the clippers with no problem–but it’s probably just as quick to do it yourself.