I knew hitting my 60’s was never going to be a cake walk, but here I am, and I’m angry as hell. After a party at my house, the following day I’m downloading those pictures on to the computer. While editing them I noticed this one picture of this guy in the back yard, with a perfect circle of missing hair on the back of his head, it made me smile as it looked just like Friar Tuck, from Robin Hood. “Who invited a monk to our party?” I wondered. With that I moved on. Then I found another picture of the guy and damn if he wasn’t wearing my cloths and looked just like me.
I’m out of my chair like scalding hot water had be poured on my shorts, shouting “Mahal, as I dashed to find a hand mirror and a large mirror to see if it was true, or had a mischievous imp, photo shopped that picture. Alas, it was in fact true, the hair was missing.
Thoughts were racing through my head; “Why had not my barber pointed this out to me, was he an evil man, moving the mirror around to hide my monk spot?” My wife, friends, children, granddaughter, and family members, had this become a grand conspiracy by them all, to let me go out in the world with no knowledge that this was taking place behind my very own head?
A plan, my stars! I need a plan, this very same condition happened to my brothers back when they were in their thirties, are the gods punishing me, for all the evil things I said to them? Is this the grand fickle finger of fate, waiting until now to poke me in the eye with this tragedy?
Now to the question that looms over my head, my remaining brothers, Richard, Stephen, and baby brother Daniel, Do I tell them? Should I allow them the opportunity to pay me back, for the years of torment I’ve put them through? There are measures I can take to hide it from them, albeit I’ll not go as far as Donald Trump!
Hats are an answer, and I do own many of them, but they must be removed, while in the house, or while eating out. I wear my hair combed straight back, could I grow it longer, and cover my Friar Tuck? Should I join Hair Club for Men? The solution is out there, it just eludes me.
Okay, after a beer or was it two? I found my solution. Here is my plan, after long hours of mulling over my situation. I will do nothing. I will wear my “Monk Spot” as a badge of Honor, as countless thousands of men have done before me. For these maladies that plague us as we advance in age, “Are not caused by the miles we’ve traveled, but only by the stops we’ve made along the way!” I have fond memories of those stops.
I really have no problem poking fun at myself, albeit I was quite vain when younger, but like a bad suit one grows out of it. So when I start to shrink and my wife and daughters are taller than me, I promise to look at it as a natural progression of life, and the indignities’ it will throw at me.
But if the subject of my monk spot ever comes up, I’ll blame it all on the hot tropical sun, I’ve been under, both in Puerto Rico, and here in the Philippines. I wonder if I can sell that excuse to anyone. Hey, maybe my hair is Out Of Stock!
I’m not just a member of Hair Club for Men; I’m one of their suckers. But now I understand those dumb “Members Only” jackets, and all the years I wondered what they were members of?