My life has always revolved around my mountain of a forehead. It was a gift from my father, "Papa Head" and his entire family before him.
Anyone would know, that from my head, I was a Sinegar.
My Five-Head, quite large and round, made me believe that I should always have some form of bangs to cover it.
My entire teenage years were full of bangs of all degrees: Big, Small, Tall..or Flock of Seagulls
It wasn't until I got tired of the bangs that I decided to go "full head" and show the world that I didn't care.
Of course, it was a shock to everyone else who knew me: "What happened?", they would ask as their eyes lifted upward toward my huge dome.
They asked as if I had to escape from a burning building and only had time to pull my hair back.
Or, maybe they thought my big bulb was a result of some horrible accident...like I put my thumb in my mouth and blew as hard as I could.
Both very good assumptions.
It wasn't like I thought my head was too big, I just thought I looked better with bangs. However, having the curliest hair ever isn't a good starting point for "flawless" bangs anyway.
And after many disasterous haircuts, I just decided to let go...and let the head gods lead me.
The appreciation of my head had begun some time in my early 20s when a guy at a golf outing said I looked like Sadé.
That woman is gorgeous!
Of course, that put the extra pep in my step that I needed to pull my hair back into a high bun or ponytail.
Yet, when I looked in the mirror, I imagined myself as ROBOCOP...
Not THIS ROBOCOP...
But this one...
Hilarious, I know
I was my own undoing.
I forgot about the fact that the royals of England believed a high forehead to be attractive. As a show of wealth, many princesses and queens shaved their hairlines.
"WTF?" I exclaimed in a full library when I chanced upon the picture of Queen Elizabeth in a history book I was reading.
The shit looked almost painful.
Who would do that to themselves...purposely?
The day my self-doubting died came when I was playing in the floor with my one year old daughter, Ivy. We both leaned forward toward each other into a powerful headbutt.
Some time later, we rustled awake dazed and wondering what day it was.
I realized then that my child had become my mini-me. She too is a member of the Five-Head Tribe.
She will learn to accept her lovely orb of a forehead because I will plant kisses there.
We will laugh and joke about Beluga whales biting our style.
Of course, we won't try to cover it's beauty and be in awe of it as we listen to Sadé.
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