You know you’re getting old(er) when you see your own children aging with time.
I recall the first time I looked into the mirror and noticed my head poking through my scalp. How I ever started getting bald in my 20s still remains a mystery.
My brother had a full head of hair, though my dad had a soft spot in his scalp. My grandfather looked like a billiard ball. So maybe there is that hereditary factor when you consider fallen hair. Many a son inherits only one thing from his father—a bald head.
My oldest son happens to be a facsimile. I noticed the other day his hair was wearing thin on top and the sides were showing signs of grey.
By the time I reached that stage in life, I was into my 30s. He’s got a 10-year jump on me but doesn’t seem to be bothered by geriatrics. The rest of him exemplifies the vitality of youth. An aneurysm last summer while vacationing in Florida landed him inside a hospital.
He’s back jogging and playing basketball—a bit of his former self, except for the head on his shoulders. A bald pate is no asset but it’s better than no head at all. He’s got a fine one.
Why is it that a dad is the first to notice that his son is getting bald? Maybe it’s because I look that way. If I had a full head of hair, perhaps I wouldn’t be so self-confident about it.
I remember a sign someone gave me for Christmas which contained these words of wisdom. “God created a lot of heads. Those he was ashamed of, he covered with hair.” I admired it for years.
“Our son is coming out on top,” I told my wife.
“What? He got a promotion? He didn’t say anything to me about that.”
“Not his job,” I retorted. “His head. Grass isn’t growing on his busy street anymore.”
When we raise children into the world, we don’t expect them to change. We expect them to remain the same—forever young. We want them to be fit and energetic, raising their own children to become athletic and agile.
What we don’t want to see is having them grow old before their time like the movie “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” in which the central character ages backwards. He’s born into the world as some octogenarian child. By the time he reaches 80, he looks like a child again. Brad Pitt played a most convincing role in this flick.
It’s good to reach a hearty old age except for seeing your children become depressingly middle-aged. When I was their age, my kids were in high school. No longer could I beat them on a basketball court or keep pace with them on a hike.
And now, with six grandchildren in the mix, they’re the ones losing a little on top and having trouble keeping up with their kids. But they still ask me to bait their hooks and retrieve the fish they catch.
I cannot dance their dance or swing a baseball bat the way they do in Little League. But I still enjoy a good game of catch with a beach ball. I’m waiting for the day they’re willing to take me on in a racquetball court. It’s only a matter of time when they’ll be spotting me points.
After scrutinizing my oldest son and accepting the fact his scalp is thinning, I made it a point to examine my youngest son from a distance. The grey wasn’t there yet but I could see some evidence of diminishing foliage on his treetop.
On the other hand, he grows a beard when he isn’t making company calls for Fidelity. What amazes me about people is how baldies can grow such full beards. When I started losing hair, that’s when I decided to grow a mustache. It’s been with me ever since.
They tell me that bald is beautiful and that it looks distinguished on gentlemen. Some people are born to look bare-headed. Kojak fit the perfect role. So did Yul Brynner. An eagle would never look the same with plumage on top.
Appearances are often deceiving. I wore a toupee once to church, thinking it would be a good reactionary piece for my column. Nobody said a word. Perhaps they didn’t know the difference, thinking I always had hair.
Barbers love to see me come. A clip, a nip, and it’s done. I pay my $10 and I’m good for another month. I sponge what’s left in place.
As for my sons, I can only expect the obvious. “Hair” today, gone tomorrow.
Tom Vartabedian
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