RETURN TO THE CHAIR

It had been 17 years since-I now hold 34 years, doing the simple math-a half life since the last time in the chair.

I was Seventeen years old walking down a side street in Osaka, Japan two days before my return to the States. After a long stint away from my family, friends, and a life that was left in pieces. During my time in Japan I put myself back together the best I could emotionally-Isolated without the language I formed unlikely friendships. Communicating with hand gestures, sports, and drawings resembling that of a six year old. I began drawing the same figure in the second grade and have never adjusted it regardless of circumstances see below

regardless of this somewhat difficult yet magical time my hair began to exit my dome (note this hair was blonde and luxurious) at a pace similar to the evacuation at Saigon. To realize this at this age was traumatizing to say the least of it. Laying on my bamboo floor every eve running my hand hand through my hair and always coming up with a score.

We need not account for the hours of sleep I lost lying thinking of my fathers comb over that he waged war with for countless years-black comb in rear pocket as his weapon of choice, wind as his eternal nemesis.

That night in Japan I sat in the chair would turn out to be my last-a full wash, cut, and a head rub to follow that left me wondering if I had participated in something illegal. From that point forward it was some sort of home cut-my freshman year of college I kept it close, neat and I might add it looked pretty good at this point. My sophomore year things took a turn for the worse and the birds next was birthed upon my head. It was like a ball or arm hair combed forward and hardened to a petrified state-my good mates my good mates referred to it as my Julius Caesar…and the winds came. At any given point walking from one point to the other on campus I would have to contort my body to keep the Caesar in a forward facing position. Hands in pocket fighting my fathers nemesis with the same vigor that came before me. My friends laughed but not cruelly but justifiably-it was in fact entertaining. Soon after I shaved my head and never looked back-my head is by no means perfect but its not bulbous, no lumpy, and it just became normal all while shedding all absurd denial that had accumulated about my pre mature baldation (that is not a word).

For seventeen years I had some sort of clippers and kept it tight fighting the horseshoe see below (this man is so ashamed that blocked his identity)

Now I never came even close to this absurdity….I always kept it streamlined A number of months before my departure my friend Tall Paul Finley gifted me a Norelco face shaver that if used daily resulted in the perfect cut. It was a dream device until two weeks ago when it ceased to cut. After four days the first signs of the shoes began to show….after a week I am lucky no one tried to attach my head to the bottom of a horses hoof. So……I returned to the chair in my pueblo of Illimo. I wondered into one of the few barber shops took my hat off and simply said “No quiero nada, no pelo…..I want nothing, no hair. To which the guy nodded wrapped the protective smock around my neck and began the buzzing of my head. He was friendly and diligent, and taking his time. I closed my eyes and remembered how much I missed getting my hair cut-going with my dad to the run down shop on rt 88 in Bricktown, NJ…..that was until a small crowd began to gather at the entrance to the shop. “que dice felipe, que pasa-what do you say phil, whats going on essentially. To which the barber responded Felipe quiere nada-to which the small group of kids began an instant chatter chain in the streets resulting in at least 25 people watching me get my buzz…mostly kids and as every new one approached the words-Felipe met quiere nada was passed down the line…which seemed like the shock of a life time to each although they have all viewed me bald in my site for seven months at this point. I was now not relaxed but sweating through the previously mentioned smock and embarrassed but at the same time appreciating the moment and the absurdness within.

What usually takes me two/three minutes for a self cut took him twenty and when I was done at least 10 people rubbed my head like a magic lamp.

As is standard here the event was both terrible and terrific all within the same moment……a week later I returned to the same shop-minus the fanfare this time and it was as I remembered it as a kid-relaxing, enjoyable, and leaving the chair feeling anew. I believe I will forgo a new set of clippers here in Peru and re indulge my days of old.

baldist: A baldist is someone who is biased against people who lack hair.
Women are generally known to be baldists, they prefer full mops of hair on their men