The World As I See It

When I was in the military, my hair was a problem. It grew too fast; it was too straight; it didn’t cooperate; it was a whole ordeal. I had to cut my hair so often that I started just shaving my head with clippers. I learned almost a decade after I left the military that my daughter hated it when I shaved my head; she never told me.

I hated it too, honey. Just as much as I hated leaving you and your brother all the time. And I know that once you saw my head, you knew I was leaving again. I did not realize that at the time. And I should have. I was too drunk, too angry, too confused all the time to pay attention to things I should have been.

Since getting out of the military and becoming an actual human again, I haven’t cut my hair. If not for the sacrilegious nature of it, I could have made a mean white man’s Jesus. So there I am looking in the mirror again, and my wife, my love, is reading the requirements for “wigs for kids,” and the length of hair I needed to hack off grew and grew. From 6, 8, 19, 12, to FOURTEEN inches of hair; that’s a lot of hair.

My hair is a thing for me. It’s a connection to my Mother; to my children; it’s something I understand from a feminine perspective.

“I really don’t want to cut my hair”

Do you need 14 inches of vanity? (Don’t laugh; this is PG, buddy)

I chuckled in my seat. And in unison.

No, but that kid needs a wig.

I keep my hair as long as I do because someone might need it. God willing, no one will need it, but someone I love may. So I keep it long. And God told me to cut it for someone I don’t know who needed it. So I did; even though I really didn’t want to. But the longer the process went on, I watched my wife, my love, braid all my hair with this wonderful woman who cuts our hair.

I watched a reluctant choice turn into a moment of community within a space I occupied, because I asked for this and God said now. And I listened, and the outcome was a meteorite of positivity that his this tiny shop near my home. My wife glows; a literal fountain of light.

The young woman tried to pay for my haircut, meaning she would eat the cost for her labor because I was choosing to donate my hair. THAT IS INSANE. But I get it, and I just don’t agree. So I gave her a tip that would have amounted to the cost of the haircut. This woman works for a living, but she was compelled to do something nice, something kind; and I was compelled to pay for my services because that’s my job. Empathy and kindness can’t be eaten.

I wrote a letter and sent it off with my hair. I hope it finds its recipient. I felt compelled to speak to this person. I felt compelled to connect even a little and wish them well.

I don’t tell you any of this for a moral handshake. I don’t care. Trust me. I am someone who was quite literally taught a special set of skills, and I can make people do what I want and make the outcome what I want with lies and stories.

OR I can do that whole ordeal with love and hope and honesty, and the outcome is the same, but it affects everyone around me instead of just me. I am learning, slowly, but I am learning.

Have a wonderful day. When the hand on your shoulder tells you to march, you march, and I bet you’ll end up in the light, which is where he wants you, where I want you.

Love,

Hearld.