A Budding Young Ambassador Weighs In On Daddy's Hair

My hair has changed since I turned 30 or so, which was awhile ago. It used to be this great, indiscriminate mop that covered my head without any meaningful pattern or design.  But now it's more sculpted, a bit like a diligently tended garden, where things grow in an orderly circle with a bit of open space in the front-and-middle. It's far less uniform and amorphous than it used to be. But very importantly, I do have hair; it's just not "everywhere" any more; everything has its proper place.

But I like to banter with Madeleine about the subject.  Like if I'm brushing her hair, I might tell her that I have the same kind of snarls and tangles in my own hair that she gets in hers.  And on these occasions, Madeleine invariably takes the bait, saying, "But you don't have hair!"

Ian, however, is more mature, more diplomatic, and surely more nuanced in his perceptions than his baby sis.  One time when he heard her assert that I have no hair, he provided a welcome and very refined correction:

"No, he does - it's just that he doesn't have it in certain places."

(Summer/Fall, 2014)