The Bald And The Brave

I’m bald and, although not exactly proud of it, have come to appreciate the positive subtleties thus provided by its uninvited arrival, none of which I will trouble you with at the moment. However, I will relate that my wife recently informed me that if I were to die she would probably marry another bald man, which is cool, except for the very fact that she’s actually been thinking about it. What’s more, she says I have a good head for it, it being bald, that I have not a pointed crown nor a regrettable scar, no odd ridges here or there, and that I ought to be thankful.

While I’m at it, I should note that I’m also thankful that I still have all twenty nails on toes and fingers, that my penis is still attached and receiving adequate blood flow and that a meteor didn’t come slashing out of the heavens last night scrambling my bald head like some speckled egg.

When I started losing my hair, and I can admit it freely now, sure, it bothered me. In fact, to ease the burden and pressure I wrote a poem about it, one that always brought smiles to those who listened, primarily the follically-aloof and bushy-headed. Off the top of my head (an unfortunate pun?) I can't seem to recall the entire thing, but I will never forget the climatic ending.

Here it is:

“Think I’m Goin’ Bald” (condensed to highly climatic ending)

...The fall-out continued but I tempered my mind,
When I’m an old codger not a gray hair shall you find.
The benefits are few but tend to appease,
The wind is no problem and washin’ it’s a breeze.
But all is not lost the dilemma is finally solved,
I’m not really losin’ it I’m just highly evolved.


Yep, clever don’t you think, but what else would you expect from a bald man?

One time a little kid on the street stopped and looked up at me and asked quite innocently, “hey… what happened to all your hair?” His mother stepped up and grabbed him by the tiny shoulders, offered a forced smile and some under-the-breath apology that didn’t quite register, and shuffled him on down the street in a huff. I was dumbfounded of course and didn’t say a word. But I didn’t smile either. You want to talk about the sheltered children of America? Well, they’re all still waiting on the damn tooth fairy but to them I’m a freak, and in my mind I pictured his stupid hairy neanderthal father and walked away with a satisfied grin below my unencumbered forehead.

Poor kid.

You might have noticed that I titled this little story, this essay, confession, whatever the hell you want to call it, The Bald And The Brave, which is only about half right. I’m really not that brave at all, except that it takes some courage to go out into public these days, what with the obsession on beauty and all that crazy hair, the legions of ashamed and desperate men signing up for the International Hair Club, the toupee of the month subscription from Hairy David, and if all else fails, spray this black shit all over your noggin and walk fast.

So yes, I still go out. I’m not that big of a chicken shit. Let me go fetch my hat and I’ll prove it to you.