Where cut? Hair cut!...

When I was younger, I used to love growing my hair long. The problem, however, was that I could never grow it long enough! I’d get it just past my shoulders in length and I’d have to get a job or something – DAMN! If only, I would bemoan, I could live a life free of the restrictions jobs put on me. If only I could write for a living!...

And now… I do.

Sure, I don’t write for a living wage. I don’t write for a sufficient income, that’s for damned sure. But Vicky has been kind enough to see to it that I have this opportunity to capitalize on some huge momentum – a new book published, interest in another, a play production coming in November – to focus on making my writing career happen.

You’d think this would be the perfect time to grow my hair long.

Ummmmmm… no.

Because now I have other concerns to wrestle with and these are jogging and cycling. Neither one of those are what you might call conducive to long hair. Or, I should say that long hair is not conducive to either of those. Helmets don’t fit right and my hair falls in my face when I jog.

Rather than grow my hair long, I decided to go… the other way…

And so, Vicky and I found ourselves at Target recently purchasing a hair trimmer. We returned home and I sat on a chair in the middle of our kitchen.

Vicky nervously turned on the trimmer and nervously took it to my head and I nervously sat there and listened to Vicky nervously mutter, “Oh my… Oh my…”

Oh my, was right. When she was done, Vicky had shorn most of the hair off my head! My hair hasn't been this short since, well, perhaps since I was nine years old! The result is… well, I won’t say it’s attractive but it is highly functional and I kinda love it. In fact, I’m tempted to have her buzz it down even further!

I went jogging yesterday morning and never had to worry about my hair. Somewhere in there, my hair went from being my one feature I thought looked good to, well, expendable!

Is this it, then? Is this the end of the old – or should I say, the young – Ken? Do I have thirty or forty (or, let’s be serious, twenty) years of shorn scalp to look forward to?

… I don’t know. I guess it depends on if I ever get comfortable being seen in public without my hair…

I’ll keep you posted.