A day that means more to others…more than I’ll ever be able to imagine.

“For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus - and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.”
         – President Barack Obama, January 20, 2009

My little sister doesn’t like it. My mom tolerates it (”It looks so nice when you pull it back.”). My big sister thinks it’s cool (big sister also had a VW Bug with flower decals when she was 18).

Give me a head with hair...

We went to dinner New Year’s Eve at a mid-priced steakhouse and the old lady across from us stared at me with a look of disgust for most of her meal. I could only smile at her.

Sure, I’ve had my dalliances with short hair. When I was a little kid Dad would take me to the barber who would take it nice and short and whisk my face with the brush. Dad would settle up with him and I would get a piece of Chum Gum. As the ’60s progressed and the counterculture became more and more mainstream I was drawn to the styles of the musicians on the covers of the 45s I would buy at Grants and Singer. If it was good for John, Paul, George and Ringo it was good for me. By 1972 I was 10 years old and sporting hair long enough to prompt Dad’s buddies to call me ‘Alice.’ The joke was on them.

Ten years later it was a social imperative to cut (and spike) your hair. I jumped in with no hesitation. The ’80s carried on and before long there was reason (once again) to flaunt it against The Man. Thank you, Ronald Reagan, Moral Majority, Tipper Gore, and the Christian Coalition. By 1990 it was longer than ever.

The last time short hair happened was in the late ’90s. We were visiting Becky’s family in New York and a particularly charismatic NY hairdresser talked me into it. To be honest, I did it for my then future mother-in-law because she had been so awesome to accept me as I was (and her response to my new flattop was well worth the risk).

I managed to keep it short for a few years, until the tone of the country began to change. Authority was running rampant. Out of control, even. People close to me – people that I loved dearly – began to question and criticize my speaking out about events and trends that did not sit well with me. I saw the same thing happen in the media – on a far larger scale – to people who had the same opinions and concerns as I did. This time it was a statement – a rejection of conformity complete and absolute and without apology. If all the folks with W04 decals on their SUVs got a kick of revulsion when they saw me my job was done.

I told myself for most of ‘08 that I would cut it again if my pick got in office. It happened (a most joyous event that I’m still reveling in no matter who might get bent about it) but I’m still holding on to my mane. I even went out and ordered a short run of business cards with a headshot. Yup. Flying my freak flag upfront – because if you have a problem with my hair you REALLY aren’t concerned about talent or ability. There’s probably a little vanity in this motivation…but I also have to admit that I’m just not quite ready to close the door on rebellion or questioning authority or the ability to make uptight folks uncomfortable in my presence.

If you’re offended by any of this you can take relief that I didn’t just come out to you.