Loving Long Locks (She's Been Blaming it on Dad for Years. But I Know Who Never Let Me Cut My Hair.)

My parents got engaged in spring of 1970. The Vietnam War was raging, and my dad enlisted in the National Guard in the summer of 1970. He had served a mission in Brazil and was assigned to the Special Intelligence Language division speaking Portuguese on the off-chance that the war expanded to include Portugal or Brazil. His major offensive was launched on a travel agency in L.A. They confiscated posters advertising getaways to Rio.

While on duty, my dad wrote The Most Romantic Letter Ever Written to his fiance, Mom. Perhaps I should caps the letter, so as to emphasize how truly, it was THE MOST ROMANTIC LETTER EVER WRITTEN. It included phrases like "I don't have much to say, except I love and need you. That need is very real, as is the love. I honestly think that I would do most anything for you; I would do anything that you asked me to do." Considering it was coming from an intelligent (albeit snarky) attractive man whose dimples showed even in his serious army photo and who was honorably serving his country, an engineer who used semicolons correctly FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, my mom might have considered herself a pretty lucky gal.

Her only feeling, however, upon seeing him that summer was a loss for the lovely blond Norwegian locks that he sheared off recruit style. She later told me, with a tone one might use to proclaim their faith in religion, "I almost didn't marry him."

I remembered this story today as I took Talmage over to see his Nana. Talmage bonked his forehead and I cut his hair short to show off his battle-wound (plus, the hair kept getting stuck in the owey). "You gave him a menopause haircut!" she exclaimed. But she really revealed her true feelings when she said, "I think he's gained weight. Oh no, it's just that terrible haircut."