I like my long hair. For those of you whom I've attended school with, served with abroad or spent time with during any of my breaks, this shouldn't come as a surprise. Given my branch, I've had a tendency to "blade run" more often than not regarding how I adhere to published hair standards.
So, when it came time to cut my ridiculously long hair for the first time in over a month, I knew that I was past-due but still not exactly itching to make it happen.
A little background as to why. The past couple of months since my language course in California have been a figurative and literal departure from the previous 15 or so years of my life in many ways. Living abroad away from anything military, not wearing a uniform or being responsible for anything but myself are all dramatic departures from my previous norms, where working as part of and leading teams came daily.
During this time, I've taken some liberties that I wouldn't / couldn't have taken before graduating from language training in Monterey, where adhering to the aforementioned standards was a daily requirement. As someone who entered the Army in 1995 seeing himself departing it in 1999, I consider two months of relaxed standards a fair length of time.
So, I've loosely taken the relaxed grooming standards, ability to dress myself in something other than ACU-pattern and the lack of proximity to anything military as opportunities to take a few steps closer to fitting in to my host country. So far, it appears to have worked.
I've wanted to maintain a relatively low profile regarding my military status and so far, I've not once been identified as a military sort. In some cases, I've been met with disbelief when I later revealed my profession. The reasons are various and may have included the occasional pack of cigarettes that I've been observed smoking, my long hair or the gutturally-satisfying "freedom beard" I tried to grow a month ago.
But the times, they are a changin', and with the recent reception of my household goods, I feel that my allotted time to escape certain responsibilities and freedoms that accompany the untethered has come to an end. Instead of an open apartment with little ties to the outside world other than an internet connection and satellite dish, I find a filled, established living arrangement complete with printer, direct phone access to the States as well as a bevy of workout equipment that's been begging me to put it to use since being neglected in the hull of a cargo ship for the past month or so.
In the spirit of this change, long hair, smoking and eating all the tagine that my waistline can fit hardly seems appropriate anymore. Smoking stopped weeks ago, eating better has come after the day I got beat up by my elevator, and now seems to be a good time to again represent the service that's taken care of me so well over the past decade and a half and I've come to owe so much with a suitable haircut.
While reconnoitering the right barber spot with one of the embassy's shipping agents, I spotted an incognito place that I was told houses a hair sage named Omar who not only worked wonders with clippers but spoke some English. A day later, I was in his chair, trying to test out my Arabic skills on the subject. After a few minutes of maybe getting my point across with hand gestures, little English phrases and a previous picture that my girl said she liked, we were on our way.
I took it like a man.
Hair covered my drape like freshly mowed grass....
...laid on the floor in tiny bails of hay...
...and after my first barber-style straight razor shave ever, I got an enjoyable face-full of the heaviest alcohol spray in my life. It may have been Everclear.
But when all was finished, I shook the father of eight's hand, happy with my decision to clean up, satisfied with the artisan's work, and ready to get back to physically representing the core values that place on the Hudson tried to instill in our class some eight or so years ago.
...until the next lapse hits me during my time abroad.
So, when it came time to cut my ridiculously long hair for the first time in over a month, I knew that I was past-due but still not exactly itching to make it happen.
A little background as to why. The past couple of months since my language course in California have been a figurative and literal departure from the previous 15 or so years of my life in many ways. Living abroad away from anything military, not wearing a uniform or being responsible for anything but myself are all dramatic departures from my previous norms, where working as part of and leading teams came daily.
During this time, I've taken some liberties that I wouldn't / couldn't have taken before graduating from language training in Monterey, where adhering to the aforementioned standards was a daily requirement. As someone who entered the Army in 1995 seeing himself departing it in 1999, I consider two months of relaxed standards a fair length of time.
So, I've loosely taken the relaxed grooming standards, ability to dress myself in something other than ACU-pattern and the lack of proximity to anything military as opportunities to take a few steps closer to fitting in to my host country. So far, it appears to have worked.
I've wanted to maintain a relatively low profile regarding my military status and so far, I've not once been identified as a military sort. In some cases, I've been met with disbelief when I later revealed my profession. The reasons are various and may have included the occasional pack of cigarettes that I've been observed smoking, my long hair or the gutturally-satisfying "freedom beard" I tried to grow a month ago.
But the times, they are a changin', and with the recent reception of my household goods, I feel that my allotted time to escape certain responsibilities and freedoms that accompany the untethered has come to an end. Instead of an open apartment with little ties to the outside world other than an internet connection and satellite dish, I find a filled, established living arrangement complete with printer, direct phone access to the States as well as a bevy of workout equipment that's been begging me to put it to use since being neglected in the hull of a cargo ship for the past month or so.
In the spirit of this change, long hair, smoking and eating all the tagine that my waistline can fit hardly seems appropriate anymore. Smoking stopped weeks ago, eating better has come after the day I got beat up by my elevator, and now seems to be a good time to again represent the service that's taken care of me so well over the past decade and a half and I've come to owe so much with a suitable haircut.
While reconnoitering the right barber spot with one of the embassy's shipping agents, I spotted an incognito place that I was told houses a hair sage named Omar who not only worked wonders with clippers but spoke some English. A day later, I was in his chair, trying to test out my Arabic skills on the subject. After a few minutes of maybe getting my point across with hand gestures, little English phrases and a previous picture that my girl said she liked, we were on our way.
I took it like a man.
"Ma Salama Shari." (Good bye, my hair!)
Hair covered my drape like freshly mowed grass....
...laid on the floor in tiny bails of hay...
...and after my first barber-style straight razor shave ever, I got an enjoyable face-full of the heaviest alcohol spray in my life. It may have been Everclear.
But when all was finished, I shook the father of eight's hand, happy with my decision to clean up, satisfied with the artisan's work, and ready to get back to physically representing the core values that place on the Hudson tried to instill in our class some eight or so years ago.
...until the next lapse hits me during my time abroad.
Your esprit de corps is inspiring. I'll stop giggling any minute, now.
ReplyDeleteThe Olmsted beard and extra long hair are a right of passage! Congrats on getting a great cut the first time! J has gotten one good cut in 9 months...the rest have been questionable at best! (You know, since mullets are all the rage and they have a difficult time doing something else!)
ReplyDeleteyour girl says, "hoo-ah."
ReplyDeleteand jay says, "you are so gray trou." thanks, babe.
ReplyDelete