There was a time, long ago, where I thought it was cute that people saw a resemblance between Jim and me. The first time it happened we were sitting at the bar of a divey saloon in Illinois, enjoying a couple of ice cold beers. I leaned over and kissed Jim’s neck. As two more Michelob’s were slammed down in front of us, the bartender said, ‘Are you guys brother & sister?’
He wasn’t the first person that has said that we looked alike. My mother was once asked if we were both her kids. And work colleagues have told us the same thing. I don’t really see it, but apparently we both have little noses, round eyes, and a winning smile. Also, we both like Levi’s. When someone remarks on our resemblance, we both take it as a compliment, and consider the other person to be extremely lucky.
But that was before I started to look like Friar Tuck. The hair on the sides is coming in just fine, and is beginning to create a gauzy halo around the sides of my head. On top, the hair is short, sparse, and the scalp is clearly visible. The sideburns, oddly, are a little bit darker. (And since they are more obvious, give me a bit of the cool factor, like Arthur Fonzarelli). But on the crown of my head I am almost completely bald. Call it what you want. Cue ball. Male patterned baldness. Clown hair. It really is quite worrisome.
However, all the books I’ve read say that the hair will ‘most definitely’ come back. They promised. It may not be what I wanted – and so far it’s a little disappointing - but I’ve got hope. And just in case my wig is stunting my follicle growth, I try to spend a little more time au natural. In private I ditch the wig, and behind closed curtains sit on the couch with a bald head and a Corona.
Sometimes Jim joins me and we’ll sit side by side. Just two brothers wearing Levi’s, enjoying an ice cold beer.