Dear Hairline

Dear Hairline,

I noticed you for the first time in a while today, so I thought I'd write you a little letter while you were still on my mind.

A few years ago, I was hanging out with my brother. Now, I don't remember exactly WHEN this was (what year or whatever), and I don't know how it came up, but I remember the result of this encounter: my brother told me that I was starting to go bald.

At that time, the concept of balding hadn't even really occurred to me. I was in my early twenties, I had thick, luscious hair, and I was in the throes of the illusion of youthful immortality - immortals don't have yous that recede. But this is what my brother claimed, and suddenly I was thrown.

My parents, of course, immediately countered this insane claim - but it was all for naught. The seeds had been sown, and suddenly I was examining my you in the mirror. I noticed that my you DID go back at an angle from right above my sideburns. Had that always been like that? Had my you receded THAT MUCH in recent years? How had I not noticed that before?

So I did a little bit of research. I pulled out all of the family photo albums and found pictures of myself as a little tike and carefully examined the visible yous. Okay, this one showed an obvious angling back from the top of my sideburns . . . Couldn't tell if it was the same amount as I had noticed in the mirror, but it looked close. A couple more images, and I was satisfied - I wasn't balding at all. My brother was just a jerk. All was quiet on the Male Pattern Baldness Front for quite some time.

And then, for whatever reason, I ended up looking at myself in the mirror today, and I pulled my hair back in order to expose you to my view. And I noticed that my hair didn't just go straight and smooth and evenly across the top of my forehead. It looked like a small chunk was MISSING. And suddenly I was back in a possible panic. Back to images of my youth. Back to uneasy reassurance.

I feel okay for now, but I don't believe I'll ever be able to rest easy about the permanence of my you from now on. I had a roommate who was bald back in the day, and I always wondered what it must have felt like when he had to decide to give up on the fight to keep his hair. Was that a battle I could fight and survive, emotionally? It's hard to say. It's like trying to imagine living my life after losing my vision. Sure, I would learn to adapt and it wouldn't be as bad as everybody says, but there would be some things I just wouldn't be able to enjoy the same way, anymore.

I mean - have you seen my hair? It's so thickly wonderful. I can play with it in so many different ways. Cut it short and then slowly watch it get big over the next two months before I cut it again. And my faux-hawk? It's so fun to shape. What would I do without the option of pulling at my hair when I was bored? What would I scratch when I was confused?

A lot of questions that I don't particularly want to answer at this time. And don't get me wrong, I have no problem with receding yous, Hairline. Some of my closest friends and family members have receding yous, and that doesn't make me love them any less. Right, Dad?

Am I crossing a line here? Is this not the kind of thing one should write a public blog about? If you have any complaints or want to sue for punitive damages, please keep in mind that the opinions and views expressed in this blog by no means represent the opinions and views of the editorial staff.

Ha! NOW sue.

Right. Anyway, Hairline, I just wanted to say that I appreciate you. And, in the end, if you decide to recede at any point, I'll understand. I just don't know if I could look good with a shaved head. Perhaps I could have some fun with a combover.

Take care, and stay right where you are,
CVT