Thin

Take a look at this picture. What’s the first thing you notice?
Maybe it’s just me. I mean when you go to a new place, you pay more attention to your body. For example, “A sore toe” becomes “an ingrown toenail!” – and – “A pain in the wrist” becomes “Carpel Tunnel Syndrome!” These are the types of things I noticed about myself when I moved to Chicago six years ago. And, now I’m having a similar type experience and reflecting on something my brother said a few years ago.

I’m beginning to see he is wise beyond his years. On one of my trips back to Philly, he looked at me, looked at my forehead, and said, “Yep, you’ve got it too.”

“What are you talking about, Bren?”

“The receding hair line, we both have it. We’re gonna be bald when we get older.” Apparently, the gene for baldness comes from your mother’s father, or in our case, Pop-pop Tom. While I have vague memories of him, pictures tell the story. In the late 70s and possibly earlier, Pop had thinning upstairs. I always hoped it was due to raising three girls, but this was in vain. As it turns out, he could have blamed his mother’s father.

And when I see this picture, my eyes are distracted from the disgraceful white shirt and burnt-out radio (we didn’t use a converter), and instead focus on the 30% of my head that’s held shelter for over 20 years, but now is barren.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t really bother me to lose hair. I mean, it’s only hair, it’s dead anyway. When I really start to lose it, I’ll just shave it or rock a combover -- whichever bothers my sister more. But for me, this picture represents the most significant recession since the Carter Economic Policy was in effect.

So, here’s to my brother, here’s to Pop, and here’s to you. Happy Holidays!

p.s. – All units stand down. We had a successful pick-up from the dry cleaners today.