So I have this HUGE head, I guess. And it's always been this way. And as it turns out, my head isn't so large around the X axis from front to back--where my ball cap would be (though it IS larger than the average here, too)--as it is large along the Y axis from top to bottom. My head is much taller than the average person's, and most of that extra height is, I think, in my forehead.
I've ALWAYS had a large forehead. If you don't believe me, check out the photo to the right, which was from my senior prom (Beth, if you're reading this, I cropped you out because I didn't know how you'd feel about having your picture posted up on the Internet with me. I wouldn't want to be pictured beside me!). Even then I had a large, shiny forehead. So much so that, when I was in high school, my friends used to tease me about it. "Look at your hairline!" they'd say. "You're going to be bald before you're thirty!"
I heard that over and over from person after person, and I started to believe it. And I didn't want to be bald. This was the 1980's, when black guys could shave their heads and be bald and it was considered bold, a statement. But bald white guys were either old or Nazis, and I didn't want to be either. And I CERTAINLY didn't want to be one of those guys who had a ring of hair around his head, so I made a deal with God right then and there: When I got older, if He'd let me keep my hair, I'd never complain about it getting gray. I would just LOVE the fact that it was still there. Just don't let me go bald.
But here we are on the other side of that promise. I'm 43 years old, and I'm not bald. Sure, my hair has receded a little bit from the photo above, but honestly not that much. And I'm not developing male-pattern baldness or anything like that. I've gotten exactly what I asked for.
Except that now my hair is starting to turn gray, and it really IS starting to bother me. And it's not just vanity, though I know that vanity is a part of it. Just as much it is a fear of dying. I know what that gray hair represents: my body shutting down on me. My body isn't making as much pigment as it used to, and that shows up as gray hair. I'm getting more wrinkles, too, and I'm losing muscle mass every decade. I may have another 40 years to live (or maybe not!), but it's going to be a slow decline as my body, which was never designed by evolution to last this long, starts slowly ticking down like a wind up watch towards death.
That said, vanity is a part of my distaste, too. I first noticed the gray hairs popping up one or two at a time in my beard, and I'd just pluck them out with a pair of tweezers. Then they started popping up five or seven at a time, and then ten or fifteen at a time, and then the battle was over, and I'd lost. Also, my wife often said when she was looking at the hair on top of my head that I was getting more and more gray hairs there, too, but I could never see them.
Until a couple of days ago.
I got ready for work and just as I was about to leave for the office, I put on my gray suit coat and checked myself in the mirror, and that's when I noticed: the light gray of the sports coat really pulled the gray out in my hair. I took the coat off and looked at myself again, and the gray was gone. Put the jacket back on, and it came right back. It was magic! And there was no denying it anymore: My hair is quickly turning gray.
The other day I was in the grocery store with my wife (Yes, despite the stories I write on here, we enjoy each other's company so much that we spend time together whenever we can, including doing mundane things like shopping for groceries). Lisa needed to buy shampoo, and while she was wading through the myriad choices, I found myself looking at the "Just for Men" line of hair coloring. I wasn't REALLY planning to buy it, but I was still absorbed in the boxes, trying to figure out which shade would be right for me, which kind of coloring I would need, and so on.
I was holding a box and reading the usage instructions when my wife, who had found her shampoo, walked past me and said, "I wouldn't, if I were you."
"Why not?"
"Because," she said as she put the shampoo into our shopping cart and came back over to where I was standing, "those kits never work right. You'll turn your hair purple."
"Really?"
"Really."
I stared at the box again for a moment before saying, "Purple is worse than gray, right?"
"Yes, it is," she said, as she took my hand and looked earnestly at me. "Besides, you're not that gray anyway. And it makes you look distinguished."
"Hah!" I pulled my hand away and put the box back on the shelf. "'Distinguished!' That's just another word for 'old.' And maybe women our age do find a graying man distinguished, but a 20 year old woman looks at gray hair and just thinks 'ancient.'"
My wife took my hand again and said, half playfully, half seriously, "Hey? Do you WANT some 20 year old woman?"
I smiled, looked her in the eye, and said with all the sincerity I could muster, "No, my dear. I want you. You are my wife, the woman I love. You are my friend, my partner, my life. You're the funniest person I know, and I can't wait to spend time with you. A 20 year old would be immature. She wouldn't get ANY of my cultural references. Ke$ha would be her favorite musical artist. She would never have seen a single episode of SEINFELD, and she'd want to do things I would never want to do, like going clubbing or white water rafting or something like that. She wouldn't be the mother of my children, and she wouldn't have the 20 years of history that you and I have. I want you. I absolutely do NOT want a 20 year old." I let go of her hand and looked away.
"I just want them to want me..."
What is my point in all of this? I guess I'm just saying that the vanity of my 43 year old self is making it difficult to keep the contract with God that my 20 year old self made all those years ago.
And I guess also I'm writing as a warning to you: If you see me in public someday soon, and you find yourself thinking, "Hey, is his hair..is it...PURPLE?" you'll know there's nothing wrong with your eyes, and you'll understand why.
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