I’ve never been too concerned about my hair, or lack thereof. When I was a boy my hair was thin, and in college my receding hairline became noticeable. I wore it longish at the time—because it was the style, not because I was trying to hide anything. The hairline has long since receded, past tense. I assume I would look better if I had a full head of hair, but I am really more than comfortable with things the way they are. Don't expect me ever to invest in a hair piece, or plugs, or even Rogaine. I have what little hair that remains cut every few weeks, and I keep it quite short. I laugh at bald jokes (I find them much funnier than lawyer jokes, which I take personally); I do wear a cap often, but that’s just because my scalp starts to glow when it’s been exposed to the sun for more than a few minutes.
I bring this up now because it has come to my attention that a link to a flash fiction piece of mine, “The Ride on Bald Rock Hill”, published last year in The Beat turns up on the website About Going Bald. The story has nothing to do with being bald, of course. It was just a name I heard and liked and so I used it. The internet is a strange and wonderful place . . .
(No doubt this post will show up on that site eventually, too.)