I got a haircut last week. Normally that wouldn’t be a
newsflash but it was the first haircut I’ve had in several months so it was
kind of a big deal to me. I’m still suspicious of that clean cut guy who looks
back at me from the mirror … he looks too much like a NSA agent who could stand
to lose a few pounds. Big Brother is everywhere!
I never made a decision to grow my hair long, it just sort
of happened because I hate getting haircuts. To be honest, it’s not really the
haircuts I don’t like, it’s getting off my butt and going to get a haircut that
always seems like something that can be put off. Years ago I adopted the motto,
“Never put off to tomorrow what you can avoid doing altogether” and so I ended
up with shoulder length hair.
It really didn’t mean a heck of a lot to me because I’ve
always seen myself as a longhaired leaping gnome but it sure seemed to bother
other people a lot. Many people called me a hippie, most of them were
youngsters who didn’t realize that no self-respecting hippie would be caught
dead wearing a polo shirt with a defense contractor logo.
Real hippies rejected the military-industrial complex
whereas I have made a nice living working within the military-industrial
complex for most of my life. Hippies went barefoot, embraced free love and
rarely showered. I wear running shoes, have been married for over 28 years and
sometimes shower twice a day just because I like being clean. I couldn’t
possibly be a hippie!
On the other hand hippies questioned authority, rebelled
against old dudes in ties telling them how to live and listened to Jim Morrison
and Jimi Hendrix. I’ve been known to crank up the volume listening to Roadhouse
Blues or Purple Haze, I think ties are phallic symbols worn by politicians and
bankers who have sold their souls for power and money and I only recognize the
authority of “We the people”; so maybe I am a hippie after all.
Is it possible that the whole time I was raising a family,
going to work, paying taxes, serving in the military, going to war and
showering regularly that I was really a hippie in disguise? Can a married
grandfather who has a 401K, draws a military retirement check and owns a Brad
Paisley CD actually be suppressing his inner hippie?
To be honest I enjoyed wearing my hair longer again. I’ve
worn a short military style haircut for so long that I have forgotten what it
feels like when the wind blows and hair moves across your shoulders. I’m 57
years old and I didn’t even know that, given the chance, my hair curls like
General Custer’s.
For most of my adult life I’ve had to accept the fact that
Robert Redford and Brad Pitt are El Guapo look-alikes, now I find out that
with longer hair that Joe Walsh is being mistaken for me. Who knew?
Is it possible that missing a few haircut appointments is a
sign of some sort of identity crisis? Did I grow my hair out because I’m
rediscovering myself in a new age awakening? Was growing my hair longer finally
releasing the sandal wearing free spirit inside me who is comfortable using the
word “groovy?” No chance!
The truth is that after I blew off a few haircut
appointments out of sheer laziness Sandra commented that she liked my hair
longer. The thing that motivates me more than self-indulgent laziness is
self-indulgent laziness that Sandra approves of! The only thing I discovered by
growing my hair out was that Sandra liked playing with the curls I never knew
were there. Boom! It was a done deal!
I got a haircut this week because I got another job selling
my expertise within the military-industrial complex and, let’s be honest,
nobody will pay to hear what some longhaired hippie has to say about the care
and feeding of their fleet of fighter jets.
Does that make me a sell out to “the man?” Who cares? I’m
the same underachieving free spirit I was a week ago except now I have a
haircut and a paycheck. If there’s anything I know for sure it’s that I look
stupid in sandals and Sandra approves of paychecks more than she does curls in
my hair.
Sometimes a haircut is just a haircut.
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