Rolling with the hair

Going through the process of brushing my teeth tonight, I suddenly recalled the time my best friend, Christine, did a buzz cut design on my hair, but used the wrong size of head on the clippers.

You see, to make a long story short, she and I both set up / participated in a fundraiser for St. Baldrick’s Foundation, a pediatric cancer foundation, in which we raised money by putting a reverse bounty on our heads – when the bounty was paid/raised, we shaved our heads, a step toward solidarity with children who have cancer, and a financial donation to their care and eventual cure.

As our hair was growing back, Christine got this really cool buzzing of the word Beloved on her head.

About a handful of weeks later, for the Fourth of July, I brought over our clippers so that Christine could do a headband design in my hair.

In preparation, we prepared and I signed a contract, freeing Christine of blame for whatever was to come…

“What am I getting myself into here?”

“A bad idea,” responds Christine, happily, brushing back the wetted hair, so she doesn’t shave the wrong stuff.

I reminded her consistently about getting the head correct on the clippers…., and she, in her certainty that it was the correct size, used the same size she had had used on her own hair… five or so weeks ago…

Seeing as how my hair was now about an inch longer than hers had been when she had the word buzzed into it, the very first cut proved that she had selected the very wrong size.

Since this first cut was right on top of my head – front and center – we agreed to roll with it… while laughing our guts out, of course.

For the day/evening, she finished up the striped design, trimmed down the longer section of the stripes a bit, and then painted the super short sections red, white, and blue.

So, my hair was totally themed for the night, and got new colors a day or so later.

For the next few weeks, I mostly wore a fabric headband at work, but otherwise let my hair down, so to speak, and let the design and painting shine through.

It definitely improved over time, and eventually did almost exactly what I’d wanted it to do in the first place…, but just weeks after the fact, and nowhere near as well.

Nonetheless, it was a wonderful experience of trusting, making mistakes, loving friends anyway, and embracing what’s so… even if it means a messed up and painted hair-do for a few weeks. πŸ˜›

Post-a-day 2019


Words worth more than gold

After a discussion over the phone with a college student calling to ask for my monetary donation to the study abroad scholarships at her school, – which I exchanged for encouragement to the girl and for sharing with her various specialties related to where she would be studying abroad this coming spring semester (for which she continuously thanked me delightedly, and which she declared was a million times better for her life than a monetary donation to the fund would have been, anyway) – I wrote a sort of poem.

You see, she recommended I write it, because what I was sharing with her, she said, sounded like poetry.

So, find in the following photo the first draft of the poem we discussed today, which I said I would write for my weblog tonight, and which I tapped out on a typewriter(!!!) this afternoon.

Post-a-day 2018

Making conversation at customs

Tonight, at the airport’s immigration and customs check, I was chatting casually with the girl working my counter.  When my passport scanned, and my picture appeared on the screen, she commented that I had had short hair back then, and, after a comment from me, she asked about the reasoning behind the short hair.

I told her that I had shaved it as part of a fundraiser for pediatric cancer, and we both marveled at the idea of having no hair at all.  She asked about people’s reactions to it, and I shared of the regular misconceptions people had – first, when it was very short, that I had cancer, then, as it grew longer a bit, that I was either making a political statement or was a homosexual or gender fluid individual.  At her request, I told of the oddities that come with growing one’s hair long again, after having it be short for so long (it takes a long while to grow out long hair from a bald scalp), and how I regularly am surprised still today when my hair whacks a guy in the face while dancing, or gets stuck as I roll up the window in the car.

She told me of a time that she had complimented a woman’s hair style, which happened to be quite short but super flattering on the woman.  The woman had replied that she had only just recently been free of her cancer, and so this was her first hair growing back in, and she was utterly flattered and touched at the simple compliment from this sweet immigration and customs worker, who, in turn, complimented me on my fundraising efforts, my confidence, and my general desire to do good in the works.

As we parted, I had tears in my eyes.  I think that might be the best airport staff conversation I’ve ever had and ever will have. 


Post-a-day 2017