By
Bob Cox
Growing
up, my dad was my hero. He was a marine during WWII and he bravely
fought the bad guys to ensure our freedom. He stood up for me more
times than I could ever count and he was always there when I needed
him most, which was all the time. One time when my best friend Vince
and I got into another one of our infamously heated debates, I had to
finally shut him down by saying that my dad even agreed with what I
was saying. When he countered back by saying “Your dad isn’t
always right”, I could only shake my head in disbelief and then
reply, “Of course he’s always right, he’s my dad”!
I
wanted to be so much like my dad, I even wished for a brief moment
that I could have hair just like his. Fast forward three decades
later and the diabolical jeannie that eavesdropped on those weird
little thoughts granted that terrible wish! As my head of thick wavy
brown hair gave way to the dreaded bald spot taking over the back of
my skull, I had far too many moments of feeling distraught over such
a plight.
Then,
I got lucky and met a woman named Diana and she would change my life
forever. A few years later, I married that woman, who also was my
best friend and soul-mate. Every time I brought up my concerns over
going bald, she emphasized that she didn’t care about that and
loved me unconditionally. Each time I saw the love in her eyes and
knew for certain she meant it. Over time, I realized that while I was
losing hair in all the wrong places, I had actually gained something
far more valuable than a humongous bald spot that would’ve made my
dad proud: freedom from an unhealthy level of vanity.
Today,
I have less hair than I did since I partied in a soggy diaper during
my first birthday but I’ve never been happier. I think that’s
because I’ve learned to take a lot more time to celebrate all the
good things I’ve gained and a lot less time mourning the things
I’ve lost. Maybe the wish I had all those years ago wasn’t such a
terrible thing after all.
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