Yup..you read that right. Ol Lund is watching hairs die and fall to the ground quicker than an old fashioned Jackrabbit hunt. Okay..bad joke; misspelled hare. But look, I have to find something to smile about because one of the few things I’ve had going for me all these years is a full head of hair and now that is hightailing it faster than the five Supreme Court guys after the Hobby Lobby vote.
I think I was already on my second haircut here at about six months.
Unfortunately, my mom (propping me up here) and my sweet aunts were great knitters and crocheters and felt the need to cover my ample locks with an odd assortment of head wear
I’ve been pointing this out to my barber, Steve, over the last several visits. By the way, you should not blame Steve for me sporting the same hair style for the last 40 years. He’s often done that delicate dance of trying not to offend while still encouraging me to try different looks. The reality is, though, there has been only so much that can be done with my formally thick growing, low-brow wire-like follicles; a butch cut which, with my ginormous ears, would only bring shame upon the house of Lund, or leave it like what you have been seeing over the decades; glued into lock position with copious clouds of spray. I was always dubious about making any type of radical change to my on air appearance fearing the viewers would let me have it as they so often did with my poor female colleagues who frequently had to endure a lot of callous commentary from clods who didn’t care for a hair style or outfit.
In the 80’s I did succumb to pressure and allowed myself the embarrassment of letting Steve give me a perm. I think he was really anxious to claim victory over my long term self conscious objections to change…until he started unraveling the curlers and my mighty locks proved too tough to tame. The best he could muster was a little wave which nobody noticed and disappeared within a few days. Anyway, Steve is more familiar with the top of my head than anyone and, aside from God..who according to scriptures, knows my exact hair count.. should be able to tell if any of those once mighty dark brown strands, which have since turned grey as a January sky, have deserted their post. But, Steve is such a nice guy, I really can’t bank on his honesty to the question, “Am I going bald?”
He knows that being a good barber is not always enough to keep the customers coming back; you’ve got to be part psychologist, bartender and diplomat too. So, he’s not going to come right out and tell me, “Yeah, Doug it won’t be long before you can dress in white, wear an ear ring and start peddling cleaning products.” No, he says something like “Well, we all can expect to lose some hair as we get older but you’ll be fine.”
He means well, but he lies.
Every time I scratch my head, dozens of hairs get wedged between my chubby fingers and give up without any kind of serious struggle. I combed out my brush yesterday and it looked like a huge wisp of cotton candy made from rocky road ice cream.
I now wonder if my decision to grow facial hair last Christmas was a subconscious compensation to this mass exodus occurring just a few inches above my lips.
Sure you may not notice it here but in the sunlight you can see my scalp through the thinning grey forrest of hair.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been abusing my hair for years. In my adolescence, all those gobs of Brylcream glopped onto my skull allowing me to use a comb and sculpt great waves of hair in front and and duck tails in back all to impress the girls couldn’t have been good. Then, when the wet head was officially declared dead, I, along with millions of other would be Rock and Rollers, got the ball rolling on ozone layer destruction by spraying can after can of Aqua Net onto our heads and into the atmosphere.
I just wonder how I’m going to handle this going bald thing; with matter of fact acceptance like my pal, Vernon? Will I seek out the finest toupee makers in the land like Myron and Mitch? Will I have Steve shave me shiny like Shaq?
All I know is that in 15 years I’ll probably be done shedding; , there will be no hairs left upon this head for God to count.
Oh, wait a minute..in 15 years I’ll be into my, ahem..fourth score and probably trying to work up enough energy to yell “Bingo” loud enough to be heard above the other bald guys at the Center for Active Generations.
By then, being on the grassy side of the dirt will probably be more important than a full head of hair anyway.
