I Got Hair

I got hair.

I may not have a lot going for me, being chubby and short, and a face that is, uh, somewhat less than classic.

But I do got hair.

You can see from the picture above, just a few days old, I was already sporting a crop.

Here I am, in my glorious toddler-hood, sitting with my little sister, with thicker and more substantial hair than she had.

I wish I had something to do with it.  But it was just a genetic gift from my Dad.  He never went bald,his hairline never receded.

Here I'm sitting with my sister, taking a breather during a family trip to California, sitting on a bench labeled Mexican. I am grateful Trump wasn't around.  We might have been deported.

This was one of only two times I had a crew cut.  My Dad would get worried that I would turn into a hippie and would get it cut short, as if hair length would disbar me from the counterculture.

I would show you a picture of what I looked at 12 during the few weeks he made me get a crew cut.  But this is a family blog, and I don't want to horrify people.  I think all copies of it have been torched.  Suffice to say, my craggy skull looked gruesome, and it reminded me too much of being in the Hitler Youth.  I got control of my hair length after that, and I have never ever had another crewcut.  Not even for theatre.

I might not have ever had another crew cut, but thanks to theatre, I did have some unusual hair experiments.

One of the weirdest was my experience playing the lead of David and Lisa.  The script mentioned the character was blonde, a hair color I most definitely was not.  But that did not deter the director. They decided to dye my hair blonde.

It turned my hair a ghastly orange.  I looked like a cross between a teenage Joker, and the very first punk rocker.  Yes, that was me.  I was the first.  I started the trends towards wild punk rock hair colors.  You're welcome, America.

It's just a shame that this picture is not in color.

Another high school play caused me to pile my hair straight up and color it white.  I look like the father of the bride of Frankenstein.  The play was It's a Bird, It's A Plane, It's Superman - and I played a mad scientist.

This is the best play I've been in that I've never had a chance to redo.

Turning my hair white was a task, mostly done through spray cans.  Nowadays, turning my hair white is no longer an issue.  I remember a few years ago, being Santa Claus in  Miracle on 34th Street and asking if they need to turn my whiter.  "No," they said, "you're good."

This is as long as my hair got, the closest I came to being the dreaded hippie.  It's a senior year picture of me competing in Humorous Interpretation.  Either that was part of the character, or I was really stressed out.  Given my personality, it could have been either one.

Another play hair style from more recent years.  Yeah, I don't know what it is either.

And this has been my hair style most of my life.  Of course, it has gotten more and more gray over the years.  But I'm used to that - it started graying when I was in my mid-thirties.

I pretty much always have the beard.  I try to keep it relatively short.  It's major function is to hide the fact that I virtually have no chin - my face just kind of blubbers down into my neck.

All three of my boys have healthy heads of hair, and the two older boys, now that they are in their thirties, are starting to experience the joys of premature graying.

Yep.

I got hair.

Thank you, Dad, for this beautiful genetic gift.  I and my boys feel blessed.