One of the topics that seems to dominate conversations between my son and me these days, is his hair. It's not that he wears it overly long or anything; it's more that he doesn't comb it as much as I think he should. In fairness, I don't think that many other preteen and teenage boys comb their hair at all anymore. By those standards, his lack of attention to his hair is certainly not unusual. Still...
Yesterday, I told him that one good reason to comb his hair is that he is sure to be captured on the occasional candid photograph. Someday, they will be seen by his children and grandchildren. That might be less embarrassing, in the future, if he were he to run a comb through his hair on occasion now. I used myself as an example. Like others of my generation, I had longish hair in the late sixties and early seventies. I have one photograph of myself, in particular, wherein I look positively goofy. I had long, unruly hair, mutton-chop sideburns and a Fu Manchu mustache, if you really must know. I could have tossed the picture, of course, years ago, but I kept it to remind myself that I too was young at one point. I too, did many or most of the stupid things that other young people did then, or are likely to do until the end of time.
My son's response? He said that he would take special care to pass the picture on to his eventual children and grandchildren as a family 'hairloom.'
Get it?
Good one, son. I'll get you back for that one.
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