Oh, Happy Grays

When I think of most men in my family on either side, I’m rather lucky to have a thick head of hair at the age of thirty-seven. By my age, several of my uncles and great uncles had dramatically receding hair lines or significant bald spots on the backs of their heads. My older brother’s hair line steadily retreats each year like an army not yet ready to surrender while my younger brother’s entire scalp is increasingly denuded with the march of time. My late father’s hair line never quite receded, but his hair had so thinned by the age of forty-eight that he had to run sunblock through it in order to protect his scalp on sunny days.

My hair still resembles a sort of natural-grown Brillo Pad, if increasingly gray. And you know what? I looked in the mirror yesterday after a fresh hair cut and realized that I liked the graying of my hair. I could visulaize my enitre head coverd in dense waves of silvery hair, and I welcome its eventual arrival.