Seeing Their Picture Brought Back Some Memories

As a balding gentleman I have been jealous of the styles and the cuts of many of my favorite bands and artists over the years.

This likely started with Boy George. Rather than Michael Jackson. Although wanting to emulate either is equally embarrassing.

My mother gave me a pretty long leash when it came to my hair. She recognized that I would be bald soon enough. And always took the time to remind me.

We would page through Thrasher and Transworld. She would approve or disapprove of select styles. A long leash did not make for a free for all.

In retrospect. I am thankful.

Thankful for having the foresight to say no to the great dreadlocks debate of early high school.

(Christian had recommended egg whites, honey and/or soap.)

Thankful for never giving the green light to strip the color from my hair.

Thankful for denying me Mohawks. After repeated requests.

She would take me to the salon. Pages ripped from the magazines. Stuffed into her Coach handbag. Clutched in her hands.

Confounding the young stylists at Regis. Then the stylists at her salon.

Some of my requests were more spectacle than style.

Into high school I let it grow free. Free and out. Free and up. Unkempt.

Into my late teens and early twenties. It began to leave of its own accord.

For good.

Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine - Let's Get Tattoos. Rehoboth Beach, DE. Random bargain bin.