Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Hockey and the Case of the Missing Curls

            I got my hair cut over the weekend.
            It was out of control, curly locks running all over the place without any sense of order. I’m doing some major business deals in the next few weeks so I wanted to look professional, and the big head of hair was starting to concern me. My hair gets quite a bit curlier the longer it gets, and although I thought it was endearing that photographs of me and Celia looked great, both of us sporting long curly locks, I was ready to cut it out and get back to something more apropos.
            Michelle had asked me to meet her at the park that day. She hadn’t known I was planning on cutting my hair. When I showed up her face turned white and she said through pursed lips, “I don’t like it.” Every time she looked at me for the next two days she winced.
            I didn’t really expect her to like it. She had been telling me every single day how great my hair looked, with the longer and longer curls racing wildly around. But I was surprised at just how much she was turned off by a short cut.
            I started observing other peoples’ hair cuts.
            Last night, as we were sitting around the kitchen table watching the Olympics on my laptop with a couple of friends, I observed every athlete with interest. I was surprised at how many had long hair. I hadn’t expected that.
            As we were watching, Celia turned to Michelle and said, “Hockey!”
            My eyes bulged. “Did you just say ‘Hockey’!?”
            Celia looked at me with a huge grin on her face and tentatively said, “Hockey.”
            “You said ‘Hockey’!”
            She grinned even larger and said it again, “Hockey!”
            “You definitely grew up in Canada,” I told her with a smile. “One of your first dozen words is ‘Hockey.’ Who’d’ve guessed?”
            “Hockey. Hockey. Hockey!” she chanted.
            I shook my head. She’s sixteen months old, and that’s one of her first two-syllable words. Unbelievable.
            “Oooh! Look at that guy’s hair!” Michelle said happily.
            I looked. The figure skater was definitely sporting a decent head of curls. I then realized that Michelle had been doing the same thing as me – looking at every guy and their hair style.
            Michelle’s in the “emotional” stage of her pregnancy. Everything seems to make her cry these days, whether it’s a TV commercial or an insensitive word. Good and bad, she takes it all in times a hundred.
            I turned to her and said, “Okay, Michelle. Starting today I’ll grow my hair out like that guy there.”
            “What?” Michelle started to cry. “That’s the best news I’ve heard since I knew I was pregnant!”
            My eyes bulged and my friends laughed. One of them said, “Make a note of this date. It’s the beginning of the new Ephie!”
            Maybe it’s foolish, but my wife definitely needed a pick-me-up. I’ve never grown my hair so long, and I’ll be curious to see what it turns out to be. So, I’ve decided to take a photograph of my head every day and stitch them all together at the end of it all to watch the progression all at once. And who knows, maybe I’ll actually like it?

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