By David Crow
Conversations
David Crow
A little while back baldness made it into the public consciousness. Something about a slap and an award. I don’t know specifically because I don’t watch a lot of television anymore, and when I do I very definitely don’t watch award shows. I only noticed because I am bald.
For me, going bald wasn’t episodic. I didn’t just one day wake up bald. My hair started leaving its post several years before I went bald. For some reason or another my body quit growing hair in sufficient amounts to cover my dome. Over time the condition of baldness became a fact of my existence.
Funny thing about facts: you can try to deny them, ignore them, refuse to accept them, change their names and/or hope you’re somehow exempt, but eventually you’ll have to deal with them. As my grandma Fink (my mother’s mother) so sagely put it, “Like it or not, it’s a concrete wall.” What she meant by that was eventually you have to face the facts and deal with them.
Previous to shaving my head, the idea of baldness both terrified and depressed me. I was self-conscious about it and worried over what people would think. I readily admit that I went through a significant period of denial and creative combing. However, no matter what I did the twin facts of too much head and not enough hair to cover it stared out of the mirror at me every day. Like it or not, it was a concrete wall I had to deal with.
So I had to make a choice. I could either cover my head with something else or start shaving off what hair would grow up there. I chose the second option and around Thanksgiving of 2004. I got out the clippers and shaved my head bald. I’ve been bald ever since. And honestly, after almost 20 years of freedom from being accused of using all the shampoo, I don’t think that if they came to me with a pill that would miraculously grow my hair back that I would take it.
What gave me the courage to face the facts was my mother. Just prior to the time I decided to shave my head my mother found out she had brain cancer. On Dec. 24, 2004 she endured an operation to remove the tumor and then endured several weeks of postoperative chemotherapy to stop the cancer from returning. Fortunately, it all worked pretty well. But for two brief scares and a couple of doses of radiation, she has remained cancer free for nearly 20 years.
For the operation they shaved my mother’s hair off. Then there was the attendant hair loss due to the chemotherapy. She bore it with patient dignity and grace, never once fretting about it. She simply faced the facts, dealt with it and moved on with her life. Then she began helping others in a similar position deal with their situation. Her example suddenly made my baldness seem like a very minor problem. Seeing my mother cope made my reluctance to face the facts seem petty and small. I dealt with my concrete wall and shaved my head. I’ve never regretted it.
I’m not claiming to be better than anyone and I’m not encouraging everyone to up and shave their heads, although that’s fine if that is what you want to do. Whatever your concrete wall is, there is someone else out there dealing with it too – and some for much more frightening reasons than you. Maybe it’s a fact that you’re hungry because you missed a meal, or tired because you aren’t getting enough sleep, or cold because you forgot your jacket and the weatherman was off a bit on the forecast. I’m sure those facts are irritating.
However, if you begin to fret, remember that there are millions of people dealing with that exact same concrete wall in their life. They may not have the option of stopping at a convenience store for a protein bar, or getting a safe, comfortable good night’s sleep or returning home for their jacket. When I think of it in those terms, being bald ain’t so bad after all.
Until next time, y’all come out!
David Crow lives in Orange with his wife and three children. He practices law and he asks everyone to call him “Dave.” Only his mother and his wife call him “David,” and only when they’re mad at him. You can contact Dave at Sit.a.Spell.and.Visit@gmail.com. He’ll always find a half hour for a good chat.