Hair Apparent

Published 8:18 am Sunday, February 3, 2013

The assessment from my adorable 5-year-old niece was frank and delivered with a slight shaking of her head: “Only girls are supposed to have long hair.”

The voicemail left at the office by my fourth-grade teacher at Brookwood Elementary School, now in her 40s, was scathing: “You look like a 50-year-old hippy! Cut you hair and get rid of that beard.”

Even my octogenarian grandmother lovingly disapproved: “I just don’t know why you cover up that handsome face with that beard and long hair.”

From December 2009 to November 2012, I did not have a haircut.

Through the 36-month odyssey, it seemed everyone had an opinion on my coiffure. Some objected, many offered helpful hair care tips, a few were indifferent, while another — my father — denounced my flowing locks.

“Son, when are you getting your hair cut?” dad (Wiley Jones to most people) repeatedly said. “It looks terrible. You look like a hippy. You’re growing it out just to mess with me, aren’t you?”

Dad loathed the large beard I had grown along with the hair. His reaction was understandable. Dad is old school. He grew up in an era when the close cropped crew cut was the culture. These days he is at the barbershop every three weeks for a trim.

“Soon, dad,” I replied each time with a wry smile that sent him storming from the room.

But one day his attitude towards my lengthy hair abruptly changed. Through a mutual friend, dad learned the reason I was growing my hair and promptly ceased the verbal barbs.

I planned to donate my main mane to Locks of Love.

The Florida-based nonprofit organization provides hairpieces made from donated hair to financially disadvantaged children in the U.S. and Canada who are 21 and younger and have “long-term medical hair loss.” Donated hair must be a minimum of 10 inches. Since the group estimates one hairpiece costs between $3,500 and $6,000 and six to 10 ponytails make a single hairpiece, the donations are greatly needed.

More important, the hairpieces brighten children’s lives.

A hairy situation

After that haircut in December 2009, I wasn’t thinking about growing my hair past my shoulders and giving it to charity. But December turned to January, January turned to February and so on, and a year later my hair was approaching shoulder length.

Several friends and acquaintances had donated their hair to Locks of Love. I had written stories about children who contributed to the program. One 6-year-old girl’s first haircut included her 11-inch hair donation to Locks of Love. If a kid can do it, I can do it. And if I can do it, maybe I can inspire someone else.

How hard is it to grow hair, I thought? The process isn’t labor intensive. Just let my body do the work. And my hair would mean more to a child than it could ever mean to me.

So without telling anyone, I mentally committed to Locks of Love.

By the time my hair reached the shaggy stage after one year, friends, family, co-workers and complete strangers began asking questions. And cracking jokes.

I heard them all.

Forrest Gump. Bocephus. The Geico Caveman. Bigfoot. Jesus. ZZ Top. Jeremiah Johnson. Mountain man.

I laughed off the jokes and replied with my mission: “I’m donating it to Locks of Love.”

That swiftly ended the wisecracks.

Friends who had donated their hair were helpful. One told me the organization would love my “virgin” hair.

Say what?

That’s hair that hasn’t been dyed. Then she gave me the ponytail holder off her ponytail.

Growing pains

Short hair, don’t care.

Long hair, beware.

The most prolonged stretch of time I had previously gone between haircuts was about a year. Now more than a year into cultivating my hair, I was in uncharted territory. With my tresses touching my shoulders by the spring of 2011, I could pull the mess of untamable hair into a manageable ponytail.

Never done that before.

Now it was time to buy ponytail holders.

Never done that before, either.

There were more firsts.

Before this experience, I had never heard of the term “knotted hair.” It’s a small clump that usually forms at the end of long strands of hair. I have no idea how knotted hair forms.

I’m not a scientist.

I do know that it is annoying.

Another hair term introduced to me was the dreaded split end. The only split end I had ever encountered was while watching football. A split end in the salon world is a frayed tip of hair that has difficulty growing.

But knotted hair and split ends don’t compare to matting.

On one occasion after a jog in the humidity of a South Carolina July day, a confluence of  sunscreen, sweat and wind turned my hair into a matted disaster. I felt like a homeless long-haired dog.

Simply combing out the patches of hair didn’t work. I doused my hair with leave-in conditioner and detangler. Neither budged the mats. I had to physically tear the hairs apart. Luckily for my scalp, most of the hair remained on my head.

When my hair was short, getting ready took 10 minutes tops. Hop in the shower, throw a handful of Pert Plus in my hair, rinse, run a towel over my hair, get dressed and go.

Not anymore.

Properly maintaining long hair is like a second job. It requires delicate pampering.

After wetting my hair, it was time to apply the high dollar (Pantene) shampoo. Then it was on to the high dollar (Pantene) conditioner. But I was instructed to only condition the ends of the hair, and then comb through the lathered hair.

How I missed the ease of shampoo plus conditioner in one.

The drying process took about 15 minutes. After towel drying proved futile, I had to wring out my hair, like wringing out a wet dish rag. Then I used a hairdryer for 10 minutes. With my hair still wet, I applied a generous helping of coconut milk to my locks.

Ladies and long-haired men, give coconut milk a try. It works.

There goes my man card.

Another round of brushing and removing painful knots ensued. Then I placed my high maintenance hair in a ponytail.

Total time invested in hair primping: 30 minutes.

That’s an entire episode of “Family Guy”!

The long hair experience offered me insight into the opposite sex.

Finally, I understood why it took some women so long to get ready. They have a lot of hair to shampoo, condition, moisturize, detangle, comb, brush, dry and style.

Also, I discovered why women take their hairdryers on trips. The hotel hairdryers are inferior to the store-bought models.

And yes, I took my hairdryer on trips.

I’ll never get my man card back.

A real ‘hair-razing’ experience

By month 36, the long hair was proving too much trouble. The upkeep was maddening. A female friend told me that by using high-priced shampoo and conditioner, my hair was stripped of its natural oils. I needed to use clarifying shampoo.

Give me a break.

Our summer trips to the beach were a constant cycle of getting my hair wet, then drying said hair. Each time I hopped in the pool or waded into the ocean, I kept my head above water to avoid the half hour of hair drying that followed. I never flinched with embarrassment when I tucked my hair under my hat. Riding around with the windows down was almost impossible because my hair would slap me in the face and again become a matted mess.

So in November of last year, I made the decision.

As much of a hassle that my hair had become, it had at the same time become a part of me. It had been with me in some length through all four of my marathons. It had been through three seasons of University of Georgia Bulldogs football. It had been a decent conversation starter. When I ran into a guy with long hair, there was an immediate bond. We even swapped grooming tips.

On that sunny November day last year as I put my hair in a ponytail for the final time, I had second thoughts. Maybe I could delay the inevitable a few more months. More hair for the donation, right?

Nah.

It was time.

I strolled into A.J.’s Place off South Dixie Highway. The boisterous barber — A.J. Walker — greeted me with a vociferous hello, then mentioned how he thought I had moved out of town since it had been years since I dropped by for a shearing.

A.J. has been cutting hair for the Jones family since the 1980s. He was the first licensed, professional barber to cut my hair and has done a fine job ever since I was a blonde-haired 5-year-old. Although A.J. isn’t the only barber or stylist to cut my hair, he is definitely the most entertaining.

You see, A.J. is true Southern Baptist preacher. And like all true Southern Baptist preachers, when the spirit of the Lord hits him, he lets the world know. It’s not uncommon for A.J. to suddenly stop in the middle of a haircut, take a step back and belt out a few harmonious lines of a gospel song at no extra charge.

After waiting in line for a few minutes, I stood up, took a deep breath and released my hair from the ponytail. Daily Citizen photographer Matt Hamilton was there to document the event, so he took one last shot of the hair in its sleek glory, draped below my chest.

I made myself comfortable in the red barber’s chair, then A.J. helped place my hair into a ponytail, since all donated hair must be bundled in ponytails.

With an iPhone in my hand taking video to document the event, A.J. took the sharp shears and began snipping. I figured it would only take one swift stroke, but my hair was so thick the motion was more like a saw.

One ponytail down, three to go.

The remaining ponytails came off quickly. It was one of those moments that when I think back, it seems like a blur. A.J. used his clippers to knock down my big beard to mere whiskers.

Just like that, I was 17-year-old Jamie again.

And like 17-year-old Jamie, I didn’t have to pay for the haircut. Back in the day I ran a tab that dad picked up. This time, A.J. provided the haircut for free.

I took the four ponytails home and measured them. The longest neared 17 inches, while the shortest was just under 11 inches. I placed them in plastic bags and mailed them to Locks of Love.

The big reveal

Shock. Laughter. Borderline bewilderment. Plenty of “Wow! You look 10 years younger.”

Dad was overjoyed.

Mom, who never criticized my look, rejoiced.

“I’ve finally got my baby boy back!” she exclaimed.

A few weeks after the extreme makeover, my new look appeared in a photograph in The Daily Citizen. Early that morning, my former fourth-grade teacher greeted me with another voicemail: “I was so happy to open up my newspaper this morning and see that beard and hair gone! You look great!”

Thanks for the compliment, Mrs. Rowland.

Several friends around town did not recognize me. The absence of a beard was a bigger factor since my hair was usually in a ponytail. Some people did triple-takes.

The most dramatic reaction was from a friend in Nashville who never saw me without long hair or a beard. When I saw him at a wedding a few days after my barbershop visit, he didn’t say a word. He sat at the table, silent, with his mouth agape, then said, “Dude. This is really freaking me out!”

After a few minutes of him repeating that line, he came up with the perfect metaphor for his emotion.

Remember in the movie “Forrest Gump” when Lt. Dan, who lost his legs in Vietnam, shows up to Forrest’s wedding at the end of the movie with prosthetic legs?

Forrest can only muster, in his excitement and surprise, “Lt. Dan! You got new legs!”

All I got was a new look, but the surprise was almost equal.

What’s next?

More than two months after “The Huge Hair Hemorrhaging of 2012,” my brown and gray locks are slowly lengthening. My beard has returned.

Will I grow my hair out and make another donation?

Maybe.

If so, my next haircut won’t come until December 2015.

That’s a long time — and a lot of shampoo, conditioner, split ends, ponytail holders, quizzical looks and candid comments — away.