Life Is Such A Sweet Insanity.

I can vividly remember one of my very first Christmas gifts from Santa. Even though it was probably 50 years ago, one year Santa brought me this Fisher Price Parking Ramp and Service Center. It came with a little car and a couple of the Fisher Price Little People. And the Little People were made out of wood and plastic.

A couple years later my sister had an A-Frame house and maybe the camper. My cousins might have had the camper. My mom’s cousin’s kids had the airport and I thought that was very nifty.

After a few years we had a few more Fisher Price toys and on a school snow day I built a little village, filling in the storefront gaps with a cardboard box or two and my little rocking chair turned on its side.

I wonder if kids even have snow days anymore. They can just do distance learning.

My, how times have changed in half a century.

When it comes to my hard wiring I am naturally an introvert. As a former radio guy I can converse with the best of them; I hate “dead air”. I will fill in conversational voids with a bunch of words just so I don’t have to endure the sound of nothing.

However, I find this effort incredibly draining.

Alone time is very special to me. I can entertain myself for years. My mind can wander all over and ask and answer questions. As I’ve mentioned many times before, I love driving by myself and exploring the world on my own terms.

When you’re a married man, it’s rude to leave your spouse out of the equation.

The only person I’ve ever been able to include on these outings while I recharging my batteries, is my husband. Any other person’s presence in my own space when I’m in “recharging mode” is intrusive. They don’t mean to be but they are. I need alone time. But I can find alone time even with my husband sharing that space with me.

My husband energizes me like no other human being on this planet can. This is part of the equation which keeps things working well, even after nearly 24 years.

I thank the Universe on a daily basis for helping me find the one other person that “gets me”. Many come close, he’s the only one that understands the full equation.

I am a very blessed man.

Occasionally I’ll browse old yearbooks online. Usually I’m looking at the architecture of the 1930s and 1940s era education buildings, often in their Art Deco glory. I also like seeing the cultural differences between what was then and what was now. So much segregation. Disheartening.

I was browsing a random 1958 yearbook and noticed that one of the classmates in many of the photos had a full beard. In 1958 I believe this was very unusual. Clean shaven was the name of the game at that time in U.S. history and I’m curious as to why this young man decided to sport a full beard in high school long before the hippie movement. What was his deal? What were his aspirations?

This young man, we’ll call him Bill, is clean shaven in his senior portrait, so either mom or dad, or both, said, “you’re going to look respectable in your senior class photo, young man!”. Or perhaps he just decided to shave that day. But in all the other photos of Bill in this yearbook, and in the preceding year as well, he was sporting a full beard.

Looking at his senior portrait, Bill was a striking young man. According to his bio, he was also quite involved in school activities. He was well rounded, participating in both sporting and non-sporting activities.

I’m curious as to what motivated this rebellion exhibited by a full beard. Did he live the rest of his life as a rebellious type? Having graduated in 1958, he’s probably 80 years old by now.

Oh, and the clocks in this school were made by International Business Machines, commonly known as IBM.

Edit (10 minutes later): So I decided to Google this man and see if there’s anything online about him. I found his obituary dated 2017. The photo shown in the obit confirmed it was indeed the same man. He was very active in his community, served in the Marines, and had a lovely, thriving family. As some would say, he came from and raised good stock. He had a beard when he died as well. His might have not been the rebel I imagined him to be, but he lived a good, solid, productive life. RIP.

I’ve been shaving my head, for the most part, since shortly before my 30th birthday. This was not something I aspired doing for the majority of my adult life. Prior to age 29 I had a flattop or military style high and tight, in glorious red of all things, and I really liked having that hairstyle. But when it became apparent I didn’t have enough left on top to pull the haircut off anymore, I had the barber buzz it down to a buzz cut and then I ended up just shaving it. I wasn’t ready to be bald and to show the world who’s boss, I got rid of the future deserters before they deserted and left me completely bare on top. That’ll show them.

All of my male cousins have full heads of hair. My dad and my paternal uncle (my godfather) were both bald by 40, though, they worked a combover of sorts and made it work without looking ridiculous. They didn’t have the defined Male Pattern Baldness so much as they were just very thin on top. My paternal grandfather led the way with the very thin hair on top, my maternal grandfather had thin hair on top as well, though he managed to make it work. Me? I went bare on top and had the typical male pattern baldness by age 30.

I wasn’t ready for that. Luckily, my husband found my shaved head sexy and I just made it work. I’ve had more than one barber tell me I had the perfectly shaped head for a shaved head.

When I was growing up and working in the family business, there were two customers with shaved heads that came in on a regular basis. One was a social studies teacher at the local high school and he worked it, though his first name was Nester and I always found that creepy. The other was an old guy that sold things out of the back door of the barbershop across the street. He didn’t work it and I found him creepy too. I did not want to be one of those guys with a shaved head, but in order for me to embrace my baldness, I had to be bald bald and own it.

At age 52 I’m sick of shaving my head. I can literally do it with my eyes closed. I don’t use a mirror, I don’t do it in front of a sink, I just shave in the shower in a definitive pattern, all by feel, and I can get it done faster than my contemporaries can wash their hair.

I’m still sick of shaving my head.

So I’ve stopped. At age 52, if I let my sides and back grow in a little bit it’s clearly gray and by this point in my life I’m ready to embrace the gray. I’ve earned it. I might as well let it show a little bit.

My beard? Same thing, it’s still ginger and sugar but it’s much more sugar than ginger. I’m not ready for a gray beard yet, and the idea of coloring it doesn’t work for me, so I still have a clean shaven face but I’m letting the scruff grow in on the sides and back of my head. I’ll keep it buzzed close; I have all the equipment for it.

I’ve always liked the look Patrick Stewart or Rod Corddry (above) has sported. I find the look distinguished. I’m ready for that. That distinguished look gives me confidence and let’s me show my years proudly.

And I’m good with that.