Hair

I took at class at Northwestern in the Fall of 2004. It was an introduction to Creative Nonfiction class, which was offered to undergraduates. I had applied to the Masters of Creative Writing program at Northwestern that summer in Poetry and was rejected. I wasn't outright rejected. During the announcement period, I received an email from the Dean which basically indicated that while my poetry was not the "university" style they sought, the committee was recommending that I consider applying for the Creative Nonfiction track.

12 years earlier, I received my Bachelors Degree from Loyola in Fiction Writing. At Loyola, I wrote short stories and poetry, but didn't know there was a genre called Creative Nonfiction. Maybe there wasn't one, as my kids say, "back in the old days."

I have always been drawn to people's life stories. My earlier work most often had an element of truth in it to help get me through a story or poem. Most of my favorite writers at the time, Bukowski, Carver, Wolff, Dubus, were all writing fiction/poetry that had pieces of themselves within. The beauty of fiction is that while you can have a jumping point steeped in reality, eventually the "story" gets told and whatever truths help shape it are often exaggerated to help protect the innocent.

The same idea is not allowed in creative nonfiction writing. People expect that if they sit down to read someone's memoir or personal essay, that the journey they will take with the author is filled with truth and reality. Memiorists do not get the same latitude as fiction writers.

I learned this "rule" in that class at Northwestern. Many have debated whether writers who offer something in this genre are recreating history or rewriting it. To me, a good story is a good story, and good writing has a lot to do with what keeps me turning the page.

One of the other things I learned in this class was how much life can be told revolved around hair. My teacher in this class, Mary Cross, offered writing prompts to the students. One of the prompts suggested to 'write your life story which revolves around two incidences of your hair,' or something along those lines. I've given this prompt to several of my students, but never felt it would work for me.

I've always said that I basically have had two hair hairstyles most of my life. Buzzed or parted down the left side and combed back. Simple enough. My head is filled with cowlicks all over the place. When my hair is longer, it is thick. A disaster. When my hair is longer, my age shows. Buzzed at a 1 1/2 or 2 clipper, things are much easier. No age, no mess, no product. Nothing.

It has recently come to my attention, that while the above might be true for the last 13-14 years, I've had many other hairstyles.

There was the parted down the middle and feathered phase of my early teen years. Yesterday, my children and I (me mostly) watched a DVD of my 13th birthday. Years before he died, my dad had the "foresight" to transfer the home movies he had on VHS tapes and convert them to DVD. The quality is horrible, but the ability to watch the footage is key. 13 is a bad year for any kid. I was a mess. I wore this big, thick, tinted (brown) glasses that covered most of my face. I had this high-pitched voice that, while did not crack like Peter Brady's, ranks high amongst the pre-pubescent boys of the time. I wore a two-sizes too big dark suit, which probably belonged to my dad, and made me look like my parents never fed me. And my hair...it was horrible. Both of my brothers wore their hair the same way, but it fit them. Their hair naturally fell in the style of the time. Run your fingers through their hair, and it settled nicely. Mine, on the other hand, would have made my head look like I was wearing a cap or a mound of crap on my head. With the look I had, it was no wonder I didn't lose my virginity until I was 17. No girl in their right mind wanted me.

Then there was the aforementioned spiky blond period. While that brought me up on the ladder of possible coolness--in my mind--it was still a look I would not repeat today, and a look that lives on only in memories. Thankfully, or regrettably depending on whose talking, no picture exists.

I had Kenny-G's look for about a week in the early 90's which then morphed into a dead ringer for the "Hair Club for Men" guy when I cut it. You know the one. The guy who leaps out of the swimming pool, shakes off his hair like a wet dog, and displays his permed, mullet hair in all of it's glory. That was me. Sadly, evidence does exist thanks to my brother's untimely wedding at that time.

I never thought that hair was that important or that my look really changed all that much. I guess I'm lucky I have hair. I still have options.