I was 11 with hair trimmers in hand. My mother vehemently and vocally disagreed. The masterpiece she had been parting over the last 10 years was disappearing. The full, soft, curvaceous mop atop my head was now adorning the tile beneath my feet. Freedom. The tyranny was over. No person could control me any longer. My idols-a disobedient cousin, my father who liked to cause little mischeifs, the athletes on the playground- were now all knowable. I could truly understand them for the first time. I could feel the power. I cut off all my hair.

I was 17 with a paint brush in hand. The classroom bustle had lulled and all of the students were balanced upon their stools. My bristle top stood attentive as it had for the last 6 years, standing guard. This particular day it was given a new permission.

Change. The need for military grade hair-styling disappeared. The girls in the class expressed in resolute terms the attractiveness of long hair on men. Within 6 months I was a new man. My posture strong, my eyes seductive and my hair fell to the length of my shoulders.

Since those Sophomore grade-school years the cuts, lengths and styles have varied dramatically. I have grown it to obscene lengths and cut it back to nothing again.

I have shocked my friends with dyes, straightening, gelling, mohawks, near-mullets, corn-rows and at times a sheer lack of concern. Some members of my church even went so far as to scorn me for my erotically long hair.

The adventure of hair is fantastic if not at times controversial. If God gifts you with a full head of hair do not waste it. Enjoy it. Revel in it. Let the world see and marvel at it.

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