Cut hair. Hair cut. Haircut.
If you’re a longstanding reader of this blog or even just a strange obsessed reader with no life, no love, and no girlfriend (obviously), you may have seen the post I made toward the very beginning of this blog. I wrote about how my parents were baring down on me in regards to the length of my hair (“it’s not the length of my hair, it’s not the clothes that I wear, it’s the cross that I bear because you know that I am in the world not of it, because we’ve got to show the world He loves it. Even though we look the same, we’re not the same. Our inside is not like them.” Ten fellow rocker points to anyone I don’t know who correctly identifies the source of that quote.). Well I have finally submitted and surrendered and cut my hair.
I almost feel a sense of loss. It had been growing since February and is now about the length it was when I started, though certainly better cut. I’ve always laughed at people for becoming attached to their hair, but I can kinda fathom it now. I dreaded seeing 6 months worth taken off, but some people watch entire years, sometimes a decade or more, come off. Observed in nonchalance, crying over such a replaceable loss seems trivial and wasted, but let’s look with a bit more care and move past the tip and shaft and go straight down to the very root and follicle of the matter.
Name a few things in your life that have been with you in every situation for the last decade. Is the list a little brief? Well for some people, their hair is situated in among the few items on that list. They’ve cried into it, slept on it, former and current lovers have run their hands through it, children have burried themselves in it, and countless vanity hours have accumulated in the name of the hair’s fashion and style, look and feel, care and preservation. A woman may have seen more husbands in the last decade then she has trips to the hair salon. It’s been such an unchanging part of her life for so long, why would she not feel pain at its loss? Who could know all the struggles and joys she’s seen with that same, uncut hair. And in that light, could you possibly criticize her for grief at its removal from her head and her life? Its just one more thing that once was a constant, and is now a loss. If you can’t sympatize with her, you must not have ever experienced loss or pain. Sicko…
That said, I didn’t feel such pain and depravation when my hair was cut. I like it how she cut it, and if I’d known how much of a difference layering would make, I would have had it done a while back. But I feel I should write a small eulogy none-the-less. Now according to ezinearticles.com, I can creat a beautiful and loving eulogy in seven easy steps.
- Gather information.
- Begin to organize your content.
- Work first on the middle section.
- Organize the conclusion.
- Write the beginning of the eulogy.
- Polish it.
- Deliver the eulogy.
So here goes beginning with my gathered information. I know that it was longer than it is now, but not as long as it would have been if I hadn’t cut it. I know that it was cut at Wal-Mart in McKinney. I know that it was brown. I know that my parents didn’t like it. I know that it was good for headbanging.
Now to organize my content. ::processing:: ::now computing:: I am now organized.
I think the middle should speak of the profound effects that hair has had on history and thoughout all of time. Mentioning Samson here would be great as an illustration. I’ll be sure to remember that. Let’s also glimpse at what hair might achieve in the future and talk about the ongoing struggle to defeat lice for good.
Now the conclusion I think should be short and powerful, not long and drawn out like so many speeches are. An abrupt and powerful closing statement about the endurance of hair and our responsibility to preserve it though shampoos, conditioners, and various other hair-care products.
I’ll keep steps five and six off the blog so that the final form doesn’t lose any of its effect on you, the avid, hair-loving reader. Now to deliver the eulogy:
We are gathered here to mourn the loss of Greg’s hair, in all it’s headbanging goodness. It was resilent and resolute against the attacks and protests of his parents, but finally gave up the ghost. His hair was a lover, a fighter, a warrior, and a poet. Honest, altruistic, loving, and caring. His brunette hair, chopped off while still in adolescence though not infancy, saw it’s end upon the waxed floors of the McKinney Wal-Mart in-store hair salon, as have countless other precious lockes.
Greg’s hair was the perfect image of its ancestors and predecessors. It reflected the virtues and honorable vices of hair long-since cut, swept, and thrown out. Such dedication to the founding principles of good hair behavior speak of its excellent upkeeping and upbringing. It truly was in touch with the characteristics of the great hair to have gone on before it, always staying true to its roots. “Such vision and originality have not truly been seen in the common hair since the first days of the afro” said the last remaining mullet while resting safely upon the head of Berry Melrose, “it’ll be missed by us all.” Some people even compared its far-reaching effect to such greats as the Ceaser-cut and Samson’s uncut, untrimmed lengthy lockes.
But hope is not lost. No chronic disease has infected Greg’s head and we shall see yet another generation of hair from that fertile scalp. We have great hope for the future and long for the day of the final defeat of great enemies such as dandruff and lice. Maybe before the end of out lives, we could see the advent of our champion. We have hope. So long as we remain faithful to our principles, our scruples, and our Tressume hair-care products, we shall always have hope.
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