Saturday, February 13, 2016

The Hair Cut Lottery

I used to be quite vain. It was kind of obnoxious. Between the ages of about 16 and 23, I was obsessive about my hair. I had these long, god-like locks of red hair that were to die for. Women used to tell me, "I would die for hair like that". It was also a work of art from the stylist's point of view. It was cut in such a way that if I went out into a high wind and then came inside, all I had to do was shake my head back and forth and every hair would fall into place in an almost mystical sort of way. My hair seemed to have a memory.

My stylist at that time (1973-1980) was named Rick. He worked at the House of Sculpture on University across from Mercy hospital. He and his business partner Larry ran the place. Strangely, it was my Dad that hooked me up. He had been going there for awhile on the advice of someone he worked with so it was natural to take your kid there and see what would happen.

Never in my life had I felt good about how I looked or even having red hair. Rick changed all that for me. He turned me into a primping, vacuous, air head in front of the mirror. I really liked what I saw. I had confidence that I never had before. I actually thought I was good looking. Maybe I was. Both sexes would look at me, ask me where or who cut my hair and when the guys asked, they were always a little red faced. Being me, I always enjoyed that.

The pic above is of me and my Mom at Grandma's house. I was hot. I have to say, I think I would have dated me. Is that narcissistic? Most likely. We are talking about me here. I am prone to such.

Anyway, as life moved forward and I moved away, there was no one to style my locks and I had to move into the working world and be responsible and pay taxes. Even if I had stayed home, I would have lost Rick and Larry. They both ended up in prison for dealing cocaine out of the shop. The House of Sculpture became an architect's office.  It was a shame. It was the 70's. No one really understood shame.

Reality can be a bitch. So I went in search of the correct stylist/barber, but I never found them.

All of this went through my head today as I was getting clipped at one of those assembly line haircut places, paying more than I paid Rick and Larry back in the Day.

I actually came out looking pretty good considering there is not as much to work with these days. Today my hair is a kind of golden white color that I cannot quite describe and it's much shorter than it used to be. Life has humbled me, Jesus has taken care of me and I love Him for it and people no longer look at the hair anyway. It's OK. I am content and confident in ways I never was in 1979.

It takes more than a haircut to make a man..even so, I still think I would go out with me. It's no wonder I never got married. I've been in love with myself all these years. I guess I'm happy together.

Is this getting nauseating? :^) 

Maybe this summer I will go with a buzz cut. I haven't had one of those since I was about 7 years old.

I will probably look the same, but with wrinkles. 

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