Bad hair days: A tale of riBALDry

By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor Sunday Inquirer Magazine MY mother told me that, as a child, I had long curly locks, angelic hair. Growing up, the thin, wavy hair took second priority to the fact that I had a huge forehead. It was a point boys my age always made fun of, so I tended to overcompensate -- by developing a strange combover to cover the forehead. As a result, my hair looked different depending on which side you looked at it. Worse, in puberty, I decided that I wanted to have a mustache, so I not only had an oddly sloping haircut, but also a mustache at 15, making me look for all the world like Jose Rizal. In college, I got the itch to grow my hair. So I did. I had chin-length hair and would tie it up in the worst ponytail ever conceived. It was during that time that I developed new respect for girls, because I have no idea how they managed to keep all that hair in order. As much as I tended to fuss over my hair (despite appearances), I actually had a face that looked the same regardless of what hairdo I had. So I kind of just threw caution to the wind and got a crazy haircut. It was an approximation of corn rows, but because I didn't want to braid my hair (and not shampoo? Eech!) I just had the barber carve rows into my hair. Weird, I know. Together with some very odd facial hair and an earring, I felt street. What I should have felt was screech. "Iverson!" I heard that a lot. Of course, I had no idea that they were all making fun of me. The funny part was seeing friends visibly try to contain the disgust on their faces as they asked why in the world I decided to get my hair cut that way. "Because I can," I answered honestly. After that little follicle debacle, I went for the least fussy haircut possible: I simply had it all cut off. This almost-bald look really worked. I had it for years -- to the point where, frankly, I got a bit bored. Last year, I decided to start growing my hair again, just a bit. My office mates were shocked. Many of them actually thought I was already bald. Seriously. In any case, I'm enjoying, for the first time in my life, having remarkably normal hair. There is, after all, no evidence of the strange hairdos I allegedly had in my youth (all the photographs have been destroyed and witnesses silenced), so I am perfectly content with my current hairdo. Besides, my wife likes it, and that's good enough for me. For more tangled tales and other hairy stories, check out the April 20 issue of the Sunday Inquirer Magazine.