A few weeks ago, I took my first and last born boys to get hair cuts. The next morning whilst grooming for church, I noticed an outbreak of gray hair on fringe of my temples. I pointed them out to my wife Jill who claimed to not see them. After continuing to point them out to her, she finally took notice and helpfully pointed out they trailed all the way down to the nape of my neck.
My initial inclination is to throw a party for them. I may as well welcome them with some cocktails, friends and family. They're gonna be around a while…I hope.
While I'm not overly freaked by any signs of age, I was surprised by this turn of events. There's a genetic anomaly in my Father's side of the family that spares certain men from going gray. This anomaly is limited to the head and then only from the ears up. It's quite strange, actually. Thus far, my blondish hair has remained about the same color since I was in my teens. As a result, I was certain I had this genetic gift.
My father and grandfather never went gray. Everything from the ears down went gray, but they both died with their natural hair. My Grandfather was blessed with particularly great hair. He had thick preacher brown hair which he kept in what was perhaps the world's greatest specimen of a crew cut every sported by a mere mortal.
In the last few years of his life, he let his freak flag fly just a little bit where it revealed its true wavy nature. Even though his was in is early 70s, his short pompadour resembled that of a young Jerry Lee Lewis or Billy Graham.
My hair is not wavy or thick or preacher brown. But, it is still there in enough quantity that a friend from high school whom I recently saw for the first time in about 15 years, said, "Well at least you've got all your hair!" which was something to be grateful for.
I’m not vain enough to consider cosmetic procedures of any sort although, just to be contrarian, I was going to let my Jill’s sister, Dr. Cotton, give me Botox when she was considering adding it to her practice and needed some test subjects.
I have been interested in laser procedures for the old man hair on the outside of my ears. It’s impossible to keep track of until the day I look in the mirror and the wave back saying, “Look at you, you’re Ross Perot!”
On another note, we have birthdays coming up. Carter, Sara, and Zane will turn 11 and Jesse 8. While the gray hair, jowls, crows feet and aching bones don’t bother me much, I’m not ready for the tweens in any way, shape, or form. But, like the gray hair, there’s not anything to I can do to prevent it so I suppose we should have a party for that also?
Oh Hell, skip the friends and family and just bring on the cocktails. Hell, skip the cocktails and just bring on the hard liquor. Bring a rope and we can call it “Hanging of The Tweens.”