Whittling Away with Dick Brooks - Telly and Style

I was taking Telly, my trusty canine companion for a Eurapeeing tour of the property the other day during the visit of our weekly spring rain storm.  Come heck or high water, when Telly has to go, Telly has to go.  A mild  spring zephyr of 50 miles per hour or so sent my baseball hat careening.  Telly, thinking the cap was some kind of mutant alien rodent trying to escape, chased it down and killed it.  I commended my faithful companion on his hunting skills and patted him until he relinquished his saliva covered trophy.  Telly then completed his appointed rounds and we headed for the house through a hail of thrashing trees, blowing rain drops and low hanging fast moving black clouds.  I rubbed Telly down with his towel and hung my rain jacket on its proper hook and immediately looked at the mirror that hangs on the wall over the coat hooks.  Major senior moment!  I was checking to see if my hair was all messed up.  It’s been thirty years since I’ve had enough hair to be messy I guess it’s a case of old habits die hard.  I’ve gotten used to my forehead ending on the back of my head and it really isn’t something I’m concerned about.  In fact, with so many young guys shaving their heads, for one of the few times in my life, I’m in style.  My hair style, or the lack of a hair style, has its advantages. I don’t need to remember to carry a comb.  I’ve saved a fortune in hair care products, no gel, no hairspray or color to keep the gray away.  I have added untold hours of useful time to my busy daily schedule when you take into consideration the time no longer spent fussing with my locks.  I spend less than five minutes in the barber’s chair on my monthly trip and best of all he no longer asks how I want it cut since shorter is the only style choice that is available to me.  Having never been one who was overly fond of trips to the barber, this is a comfort to me.  My grandfather was a barber and I was very fond of him but he seldom cut my hair.  My father relying on the belief that the skills of the previous generation were in his DNA usually cut our hair.  This meant a kitchen chair on the porch, a towel around our neck and a pair of hand powered clippers intended for use on farm animals.  Thank goodness the prevailing style among my peers was the brush cut which my Dad was able to accomplish reasonably well with a minimum of squirming on my part and non church words on his part.  About seventh grade, I discovered the wonders of Butch Wax.  Applied properly this made the front row of your brush cut stand straight up turning your hair cut into a deadly weapon of mass destruction had you head bumped any body or any thing.  For college, I wore The Princeton, a style stolen directly from Perry Como who was popular at the time.  I wore this style until my hair departed leaving me with my present style.  I do miss the smell of Vitalis in the morning but the scent of the Mop and Glow that I now use does remind me of  days gone by.  Oh well, hair today—gone tomorrow.

Thought for the week—We’re born naked, wet and hungry—then things get worse.

Until next week, may you and yours be happy and well.   

Whittle12124@yahoo.com