Gray Matters

I suppose spotting the first of what are sure to be many more gray hairs on my head should be a really big deal?

At 29, I've officially earned my stripes as a man. After proving that I can indeed grow a burly mess of a beard this summer, I suppose this was the final frontier. Though I'd thought I noticed a few stray gray hairs in my beard a few months back, I just chalked it up either to bad lighting or poor eyesight. But, since my hair is a reddish mixture of blonde and brown anyway, the lighter hairs aren't as noticeable as they might be were I sporting locks of Spock-black hair.

But, a few weeks ago, when Stacey was cutting my hair, she noticed a few stray grays on my head. I didn't really care, and actually forgot about it until yesterday. I looked in the mirror trying to find them for a few minutes, until I finally saw them, just behind my left ear. "Hmm," I thought. "There they are. Okay...now, what?"

Growing up, I was always convinced I was going to be bald, since everyone I knew who was bald, had a bald grandfather on their mother's side and everyone knows that a man with a bald maternal grandfather is doomed to a follicly challenged adult life. Both of my brothers are dealing with various degrees of hair loss, and I figured it was just a matter of time until mine started retreating as well. God knows I treated my hair poorly enough when I was younger (repeated bleaching/dyeing/stopping after "lather, rinse" and not repeating [gasp!]), and I knew my hair was pissed at me anyway and was ready for any excuse to bolt.

But, have I somehow escaped this fate? Is my hair just beginning its change to autumn a little early?

I guess I'll have to wait a few years to find out, but I do know this: I had no gray hair before Connor was born. But, very shortly after shifting into full-time parent mode, they've begun to sprout. I used to think that the stories about kids making their parents go gray was a silly old wives tale. Now, I'm not so sure.