Why do we express ourselves through our hair?
I pretend not to care much as I’m about to lose mine to chemotherapy drugs.
But I grew it long in my defiant (or was it compliant?) youth.
As a young assistant city editor supervising reporters who were older than my parents, I grew my first beard to sort-of cover up that baby face underneath.
Mimi liked the soft beard better than my five-o’clock shadow, so we had an accord for decades, as long as I’d shave my scraggly neck and keep the beard trimmed. For most of my 20s and 30s, I had a full head of hair (thick, but shorter than in my college days) and a full, if usually trimmed, beard.
Gray appeared in the beard long before it was noticeable higher up (there it’s still mostly brown). I began describing the beard as salt-and-pepper. But I had to admit salt was taking over the sideburns in the late 90s when my black-and-white photo (left) that ran with my religion column at the Des Moines Register made me look as though I had a goatee, as readers often commented upon meeting me, surprised to see the fuller, frostier hair on the sides.
My brothers, one older and one younger, started losing their hair earlier and faster than I did, as shown in a 2006 photo of us bowing our heads in a mock prayer for a cure for baldness.
My mother, who fueled my ego more than she deflated it in my youth, brought laughter and humility in the early years of her memory loss by suddenly noticing and exclaiming, more than she was asking, “Is your hairline receding?”
For a few years, Mimi would refer to my “bald spot” in back, but I could feel hair when I put my hand there, so I denied it, just as she kept telling our boys “I’m taller” as they shot up past her in adolescence. Occasional photographs from behind quieted my denials.
When I was a victim of age discrimination, I asked my attorney if I should shave the mostly white beard in looking for my next job. If we were going to sue, I’m sure she would have urged me to keep it. Since we weren’t, she didn’t have a legal opinion. But as a female friend, she said, yeah, I’d look younger. After I shaved, many others agreed.
When I found the job, I grew back a goatee, telling myself that part was still salt-and-pepper. But salt was winning. Eventually I grew the full beard back, embracing the white. But then vanity prevailed and the whole beard came off, even though I wasn’t looking for work (but it certainly stayed off when I had to start looking again).
Just when I was comfortable with shaving daily and accepting a slow retreat of my hair (it’s still thick where I have it), I’m facing two developments I can do little about:
- Chemo is killing my white blood cells, which fight infection. So I need to avoid nicks. So the beard is coming back, even those scraggly neck hairs Mimi always made me shave.
- Soon the beard will fall out, along with what’s left on top of my head and other hair you don’t want to know about, as the Cytoxan and other chemo drugs kill off my fast-dividing cells: primarily lymphoma and hair.
Mimi suggested that waiting to lose my hair would be depressing, not to mention clogging our drains and covering pillows. I briefly pondered whether I’d feel some connection to Roger Maris if I let my hair start falling out in clumps (the stress of his record 1961 season caused hair loss). But I knew I wouldn’t hit any homers. So Mimi took me to her stylist, Jason Keller, for a close buzz, rather than risking a shave.
So that’s my new look, scraggly beard, topped by my buzz cut where I still have hair. It will all fall out soon, but short enough to spare the drains and, hopefully, look less depressing on the pillowcases.
I hear it will grow back eventually, and that sometimes it grows back a different color or texture. More on that later.
In the meantime, I might express myself through my hats.
Feeling entirely self-indulgent, I did two video retrospectives. The one below is sort of a history of my hair. The one below the hat photos looks at my hair through four decades of weddings.
Definitely the pork-pie or fedora (but the watch cap is kind of badass, too).
Pulling for you in Seattle …
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I absolutely love the old pictures! Clicking a picture in the past was so special, and seeing it again after some times gave us a feeling which doesn’t even come close to seeing the digital ones click nowadays. I wish you very much good luck with your recovery. Hang in there. Happy 2015!! x
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Pulling for you in Shreveport … and going through a second fight with cancer myself. The first time 20 years ago was radiation and surgery. This time the only viable treatment option was chemo. Start my second around Jan. 5. Lost my hair during the first round so I’m kind of used to the bald look by now. I’ve started going without the hats and caps lately (unless my ears start getting too cold). I like the white fedora.
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Well, next time you’re in Baton Rouge (or I’m in Shreveport), Jeff, we’ll get together to toast both of our health!
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Pearls of wisdom I’ve picked up over the years from folks I know who are follicley challenged:
● You’re not losing your hair. It’s a low-maintenance cut designed to trim shampoo costs and shave combing time.
● Why waste hormones on hair?
● You’re being environmentally responsible by making use of sunlight to energize you libido. That’s right, you are now a solar-powered sex machine!
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Steve: Wishing you the very best as you deal with the chemo and all that comes with it. I hope you’re soon restored to full health. I really enjoy reading your posts. -Leia
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Shakespeare said that most men have “more hair than wit.” Apparently for some time you’ve been the exception that proves the rule. Your new phase merely emphasizes that point. Hats off (or on) for your cheery post and video. Best wishes.
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Agree the white fedora looks nice. Wish you well in your treatment.
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Steve, We do not know each other, but I think we have a couple of mutual friends: Tim Schreiner, my old boss at Taunton Press, and Bob Benz, another old boss. That’s not why I’m writing.
I’ve been enjoying your digital first news blogs quite a bit as that is the main focus of my publishing career. Most recently, Bob Benz hired me to move some B2B magazines to digital first, which we did and then were promptly fired for. I judge that as a resounding success, but that is not why I am writing either.
Almost immediately after I was canned, and we lost our health insurance, my wife found a lump on her breast. Thanks to Obamacare we were able to get her treated right away and after a double mastectomy and 16 weeks of chemo, she is cancer free, stronger for the experience, and has a full head of 1-1/2 in. hair.
You have already beat cancer once, so you know it can be done, even if it is scary. I am pulling for you and looking forward to you getting out the other side of this tunnel in hopes that I can meet you for lunch someday and pick your brain about digital-first journalism.
I like the Walter White hat best but would beg you to go with anything but the Yankees cap (born and raised in Boston area). However, if you choose the Yankee cap, I can respect that.
Keep up the good work, Dan
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Thanks, Dan! I look forward to meeting and to toasting our (and our wives’ health). I’ll have plenty to wear other than baseball caps.
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Steve: I just want to wish you all the best. I think you look great with the new look, with or without the hats. Love the homage to Walter White too. Stay strong.
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Hair’s looking at you, Steve. Love the hats. Seriously, you’re in our thoughts. Cancer doesn’t stand a chance against someone with your outlook. Let me know if you want any Andy Reid-era Eagles caps. I have tons of them!
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Thanks, Phil! Maybe a Chiefs hat? Did Andy’s Eagles ever beat both of the teams with home-field advantage in the playoffs (Patriots & Seahawks) & lose to two teams with 3 or fewer wins (Titans & Raiders)? I think he’s reaching new levels of fan frustration.
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The Heisenberg look definitely suits you. But the tuque isn’t bad either. Sending you best wishes for a positive outcome from sunny Vancouver Island, where your influence at a Black Press editorial conference is still being felt.
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Thanks, Susie! Mimi and I love Vancouver Island! Have revisited several times.
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I’m “just” a follower of your blog & enjoy your posts (the only connection to your profession being that my father was in the radio news field, and now my daughter is in the tv news broadcasting field).
I must say that the last look with the sunglasses is the “coolest”. So my pick would be that one.
Rooting for you!
PS: Hair is over-rated.
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Thanks! Any follower of the blog is important to me. I appreciate your kind words.
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Giving up my hair and clothes all those years ago taught me something useful: My attempts to influence what others thought of me by controlling my appearance cost me more than they benefited me. Losing that outward control — even for just a while — helped me express my individuality in other ways. And for that I remain grateful.
Your hair will return with your recovery. Your thoughts about it, however, may change.
Have a great 2015!
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[…] « Farewell to my hair […]
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Steve, I’m keeping you in mind and heart as you press forward brother. I’m also taking style notes from you friend. Your manner, way and style in all walks and in all endeavors, has always been an inspiration to me since the first time we met.
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Thanks, Robbie! I appreciate your kind words.
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First of all, I hope you know you’re on the cutting edge of hair fashion. My college-freshman (here on winter break) just came home with most of his head buzzed close. With the scraggly beard, you really have a cool hipster vibe. (The sparkle in your eyes makes it obvious to those who don’t know you that you’re not one of those poser faux hipsters.)
Secondly, I loved the videos and pictures! Your jaw-drop at the Gannett news, the Caucus night, the rebel college jour no–they are GREAT! Continuing to keep you in my thoughts and sending good energy to you, Mimi and the rest of your family.
Thirdly, man, you’ve got a good-looking family. All of you! xoxox
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Thanks, Kellye! (Mimi improved the blood lines, definitely).
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Well, as Lorde sings it, it’s buzzcut season anyway. All the hats look great; have as much fun as you can with it!
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[…] I should acknowledge my fondness/weakness for personal stories and note that I have told many personal stories here and on my other blogs: stories about cancer, family travels, a baseball game with my sons, career moves, even a history of my hair. […]
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[…] sent me a journalism game, a handmade prayer shawl, a personal note about baseball, headgear when my hair disappeared, and, I’m sure, other gifts I’m not recalling at the moment. A person I’ve met […]
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