One good shave deserves another: My bald son.

So, a couple weeks ago I decided I had enough of the receding hairline thing. I also woke up that Saturday and looked in the mirror and decided I didn’t like to look like Crusty the Clown. When hair thins, it doesn’t have fellow hairs to hang on to and cling to. Lonely hairs stand out, stand up, and wave about. It’s not pretty.

And I got tired of the wind, having to carry a comb everywhere, and just generally tired of managing dying hair.

So, I shaved. Not all the way, just enough to feel like I was shaved. I left a wee little bit of hair behind. I wasn’t totally serious about baldness yet—besides, it’s still cold here in Chicago. I need a little bit of warmth left.

A week later, AJ followed suit.

“Dad, I like your hair.”

“Really? Do you want me to shave your head?”

Now, notice how quickly the conversation went from AJ just generally appreciating how “crunchy” my hair feels, to me offering to lop off his mane. My wife is in the corner shaking her head.

“Sure!”

After talking it over with me, and with plenty of rounds of me saying, “But it’s just hair. It’ll grow back. He’ll be in soccer this summer, he’ll need to keep cool.” And so on. She relented. The “It’s just hair, it’ll grow back” argument helped. Mostly, she just didn’t want hair to be the battlefield she died on.

That’ll probably be bows and arrows or target pistols or something silly like that.

Click the picture to see our glorious baldness!

Ellie’s Tresses, if you’re wondering, are still intact.