“Gimme a head with hair
Long, beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming
Streaming, flaxen, waxen
Give me down to there
Shoulder length or longer (Hair!)
Here baby, there mama
Everywhere daddy daddy
Hair, hair, hair, hair
Grow it, show it
Long as I can grow it
My hair” (Hair Broadway Musical – 1968)
One of my biggest arguments with my father when i was a teenager was over the length of my hair. It was the 70s- all of my friends and classmates had long hair. It was bad enough that I was young for my grade. I really felt I didn’t fit in with my short hair. But I had to listen every time dad said, “Get your hair cut- you look like a girl!” I hated it. My hair was parted to one side and combed straight back. Even though it was very short, every morning after I left the house, I would push my hair forward so at least I had bangs to make me look a little cooler (It didn’t work.) And I was obsessed with grabbing what short hairs were on the side, and trying to pull them over my ears so at least the very top part of my ears had a hair or two covering them. (Ironically now I have too much hair growing on my ears.) Then, when I came home, i would comb the hair on the top of my head back, and push the little bit of hair on the side behind my ears and hope that I could avoid a haircut for another few days. Dad was none too happy when my yearbook photo (below) had my hair combed forward into bangs, but there wasn’t much he could do about it at that point.
By the time I was on my own, long hair was going out of style, and I did want to look presentable for my job. By that time, my hair involuntarily started to disappear. I was in my early 20s when a co-worker first told me my hairline was receding. It was said in a joking way, but I took notice. It wasn’t until my late 30s that I looked in the mirror at the back of my head and saw that dreaded hairless circle. I hated the look of comb-overs and hair pieces and hair transplants, so I decided to just cut off the remaining hair. That was the best decision I ever made- no more worrying about my hair, it was easy to care for, and bald heads were in style. It took 30 years, but I no longer lamented over my hair (or lack of it).
Later in my life, dad acknowledged that he was too strict about my hair when I was young. I hung out with a good crowd and he realized that a person’s hair didn’t define them. We would laugh about it, but I don’ t think he ever realized how much it stung when I was younger. Of course I do occasionally wonder what I would have looked like with a flowing head of hair. And I admit I still get a tad jealous when I see someone like Deep Purple’s Glenn Hughes (whom I saw at Sellersville Theater this week) who, at 72 years old, still has a head of hair I could have only dreamed of as a teen. But I’m OK with it now- I happily no longer feel the need to sing “Gimme a head of hair”.
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