Monday, February 25, 2008

Hair

Give me down to there hair
Shoulder length or longer hair
Here baby, there mama
Everywhere daddy daddy

Hair, hair, hair, hair
Grow it, show it
Long as I can grow it
My hair

I let it fly in the breeze
And get caught in the trees
Give a home for the fleas in my hair
A home for fleas
A hive for the buzzin' bees
A nest for birds
There ain't no words
For the beauty, the splendor, the wonder
Of my...

Hair, hair, hair, hair,
Grow it, show it
Long as I can grow it
My hair

--Hair; Hair the Musical

From the first time I saw the Beatles on Ed Sullivan in 1964, I pretty much knew I was going to grow my hair long. And by today's standards, the Beatle's hair wasn't really that long. But by the late 50s and early 60s standards they were scandalously shaggy.

Maybe it was also my own backlash reaction to my mother's do-it-at-home haircuts that inevitably led to me wanting my hair long. And perhaps my mother was tired of trying to even up her slips of the clippers. So my hair grew. I remember my Aunt Erma teasing me unmercifully about it, asking, "Who is this pretty little girl?"

That just strengthened my resolve. I spent most of my youth, adolescence and young adulthood with fairly long hair. At one point in the 90s, I am ashamed to say, I even had a ponytail.

With 50 less than a month away, I keep my hair (grateful that I've kept my hair) respectfully short. I do not want to be one of those middle-aged men who tries to hide from Father Time in the fashions of his youth. I don't wear my ear rings anymore, either. My tattoo is my only concession to rebellion. But I got that when I was 45, so I figure it is exempt from the stigma of a aging man not accepting his fate gracefully.

But part of me misses my flowing locks. I miss my face framed by free range hair. I miss bandanas and headbands. I even miss the constant brushing the hair out of my face. Maybe it is the silver that has strangled the once brown strands and feeds the longing. Or maybe it is the Samson in me longing for that symbol of strength that maturity has robbed from me.

Who knows? Someday, maybe when I'm staring at 60 and more aged than middle aged I'll let the hair grow again (provided I am still blessed with it). Cause no matter how you cut it, there really ain't no words for the beauty, the splendor and the wonder of my hair.

5 comments:

Blazngfyre said...

I'll be 40 in 6 months and my hair is down to my waist.
It has never been this long in my life, and I LOVE IT!

I say .... GROW IT! :D

Tim ID said...

Blazngfyre,
Hair today, gone tomorrow. :)

R. said...

As my hair gets thinner on top I notice that things are growing quite well closer to the ground.

Fortunately, I don't wear shorts. I hope not to need them at some point. With luck, any indecency will be fully obscured from public notice and I can stroll around as God intended without harassment or sunburn.

Tim ID said...

R.
TMI

Mikey said...

There was a time when my hair was past my shoulders. But the more it thinned on top, the stupider it began to look. Is there anything sadder than a bald man with a pony tail?
Someone once said "I'm not getting older, I'm getting better". To whoever said that I say... lick me.
Betty Davis said it best when she said "Getting old ain't for sissies".
Amen to that, sister. And I miss my hair.