Saturday, July 17, 2010

he's talking about his . . .

It's time for one of my self concious in/out of the closet moments.  It's not new to me, but I don't think I've quite shared with anyone else.  Momma's probably seen and noticed it, but I haven't actually discussed it with her, so I can't be sure.  But she is somewhat astute.  She catches stuff sometimes.

And it has to do with my hair.  I'm going to tell you about it.

You may not know, but not so many years ago I was the guy with the shaved head.  I even have my own clippers.  I was really good at buzzing it all off myself, though I did always ask nicely and would get Momma to run around the edges, because I always missed something.

The worst was around my ears.  I always missed a nice long strand, and I would never notice it till a couple of weeks had passed and it was noticeable as it and the hair around it grew.  And I don't know how I always missed that bit.  Early on I noticed a pattern and paid extra special attention to that area.

Hair is damn fine insulator.  It holds in much more heat than you might realize unless  you're going bald or have been or are the shaved head guy.  Depending on when I last shaved the noggin and depending on what time of the year it was I might reach needing-a-nother-swipe time in the colder months.  Sometimes I'd let it go longer because I knew that I'd be that much colder for the next little bit after removing it, but I hated my hair and would also just want it gone.

If I didn't shave it it was unmanageable and sucked and was wispy and mousy and sucked, and I hated it.

And then somewhere around the time I came out and unrelated to my coming out I just didn't cut it one winter.  I actually didn't cut it at the time because of the winter.  I kept the insulation intending to shave it in early spring, and then I didn't do that either.

And then it was all kinds of looking like shit because it hadn't been cut into a style and was pretty much growing in as a horrible mullet like thing.  I had a friend trim the sides and back enough to fix that situation, and eventually I went to a local chain salon and paid someone.  For the first time in years someone else cut my hair with some concern as to making the cut something that added something of a style.

But by that point I was sorta on a mission to just let it grow.  I was never allowed that luxury as a child.  My haircuts were provided free of charge by my father when he decided that it was hair cut night.  Each of my brothers and I took our turn in line to get a get little missionary style haircut.  He did a great job, as far as I know, and only nicked me a couple of times over the years, but I never really had any option but the one cut we all got.

And though I'd never really thought that I wanted long hair I let it grow, and in the process I changed my attitude about my hair and stopped forcing the curl out.

I actually never realized my hair would curl the way it does.  I'd always hated what my hair did and, when I actually had hair, I forced it to not curl.  When I let go and let grow however I saw what it was actually capable of, though I'll admit that I have to control the curl to be sure that it doesn't go the wrong way.

And now I just hate the sides.  I don't really hate them in general, but I do hate them now.  My hair needs to be shortened, and when it gets as long as it is the sides go all sorts of stupid.

Am I in a better place with my hair?  When I had none to concern myself with I was never really concerned with it.  I buzzed the clippers around my head for a while, swept the floor after dusting myself and took a shower.  There was a lot of craning my neck and trying to align a hand held mirror with the one on the medicine cabinet as well, but that's a given.

I should point out now that I've re-resorted to cutting my own hair, but this time I use scissors.  I seem to at least be able to get my hair to a uniform not bad where it's all roughly the same length, but I still have to get Momma to come behind and fix what I can't see.

But I don't wanna.  I want to pay someone who actually makes their living making hair look nice in a way that me, the bathroom, a wet comb and those damned scissors can't.  There's a whole other part of this dream where boys run into things accidentally because they can't take their eyes off me as I walk by, but that's not part of this post.  I'll write about that another day.

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