For those of you that know me, when I say that today I got a new style of haircut, you know that’s a big deal for me. For those of you that don’t know me well, let me explain why today was such an important day for me.

When I was about 18 months old, my mother and I had an accident in the kitchen. It was one of those freak things, and it was no one’s fault. But the end result was that I received 2nd and 3rd degree burns on my arms, shoulders, and most of my scalp. The 2nd degree burns healed normally, and you would never guess that I was burned where they were. The 3rd degree burns left scars that made it so no hair would grow where they remained.

To answer some common questions: Yes, it hurt a lot, but no, I don’t remember anything about that day, including the pain of it. What did my mother do? Freak out, I suppose. I cannot even fathom the fear and the anguish that both she and my father went through, seeing their child injured like that. But I know that my parents are amazing people, because they they took care of me, loved me, and got me the best care possible. My parents were the ones that suffered the most from my injuries.

Immediately after the accident, my mom and my dad took me to our local hospital, as any parents would. Our local county hospital did an excellent job dealing with my injuries initially, but they were not equipped to deal with the extensive scarring that covered most of my scalp. Our family was referred to the Shriner’s Hospital in Cincinnati, which was about a 2 hour drive from our home near Winchester. I would have 4 surgeries in all before the age of 5. I had skin grafts and reconstructive surgeries for both health and cosmetic reasons.

For those that don’t know the Shriner’s Hospitals and how they work, my parents didn’t have to spend a dime on my medical care. Not one cent. Services were offered free to any patient under the age of 18 at that time.  My parents didn’t even have to pay for a place to stay during the multiple reconstructive surgeries I went through to cover up the majority of my scars. They stayed in the Ronald McDonald House near the hospital during those times. Say what you like about the Shriner’s or McDonald’s, but I owe those organizations a debt of gratitude. I am also very thankful for our church family at that time, because I know they offered a lot of emotional, moral, and I assume, financial support as well.

And my time at the hospital changed my perception of the world. Since the hospital was free, there were kids there from all over the country and from all walks of life. I really didn’t grow up seeing “the other” as something unusual. Different was the norm. I remember paying more attention to things like accents and injuries than to race or skin tone. And beauty was something you looked for within a person. I’m not exaggerating when I say that some of my playmate growing up had half of their face melted off.

My time at the hospital also changed the way I interact with others. From a very early age, I had to talk with adults in order to tell them how I was feeling and what I needed. I also learned to play and interact with kids from all over the country. I also had to learn to be self-reliant, even as a small child. My parents were there most of the time at the hospital, and the doctor’s and nurses were always nearby, but I still remember some lonely nights when I felt like all I had was myself and a stuffed animal the church ladies made me to keep me company.

But I know I am stronger for my scars and what I had to go through to deal with them. You know how some people can barely stand to be in a hospital? I spent a big chunk of my formative years in one. Hospitals don’t bother me. You know how some people have trouble speaking to others, especially if there is a big age gap, or they are considerably different than them? I can talk to anyone, no problem.

And even after the accident, even with my scars, I was one of the lucky ones. I saw kids that were burnt so badly that they didn’t survive. There were others that lost their sight, or an appendage, or we scarred so badly that they would be noticed as burn victims for the rest of their life, no matter how many reconstructive surgeries they had. But like I said, I was lucky.

To my knowledge, I was one of the first children in America to receive expanders. An expander is basically a plastic balloon that is inserted under a section of skin, then slowly inflated with saline over time to stretch out the skin, so that new skin will grow. The idea was to insert the expanders under a section of my scalp that still had hair, grow that section by slowly stretching the skin, and then use that new skin to cover up the majority of my scars. I had two expanders, one on each side of my head. It took one surgery to put them in. It would take another surgery to take them out and use the new skin to cover my scars.

My parents would take me to our local hospital every Saturday for several months, where I would get a shot (one in each expander, if I recall) to add the saline and stretch the skin. I would have headaches after that, for obvious reasons. I also ended up having two large lumps on my head, for obvious reasons. Incidentally, expanders are often used in breast reconstructive surgeries. So imagine a four year old me with two large lumps on my head! Do you remember the movie “Fivel”? It was popular around the time that I had my expanders. So was the floppy blue hat that little mouse wore. My mother handmade a floppy blue hat for me so I could cover up my head, lumps and all. Yes, it was adorable as it sounds!

Long story short, the fourth and final surgery to remove the expanders and cover my scars was a huge success. After that surgery, it was almost impossible to tell that I had any scars. There were a few scars on the front of my scalp that could not be covered, but I just wore my hair long in the front and covered up those scars with my bangs. Basically, I had a comb-over for about thirty years. I kept pretty much the same haircut most of my life, and went about my teens and twenties like nothing happened.

Fast forward to my thirties. Like many men in my family, I’ve been losing my hair for a while now. I knew this would likely happen and I was ready for the inevitable. I kept my hair the same way for a long time, even though I knew that my thinning hair was not covering up the scars as well as it used to. I honestly don’t mind my scars, but they do tend to get some attention, especially from young people. Since I teach, I have had to have a brief conversation about my scars many times over the years. I try not to make a big deal out of them. I try not to draw attention to them. But they are there, and they come up from time to time.

While I try not to care about what people think of me, I’m only human. And though some guys might try to pretend that they don’t care about their appearance, we certainly do (at least I do). With my teaching and my preaching, I try to make myself look presentable. But with my thinning hair, I felt like that was becoming more difficult to do. I couldn’t keep my scars covered, and it was harder to keep my hair in place, so I started to invest heavily in hats. I laugh even as I write that, but it’s true. I’ve always worn hats (partially due to my scars, of course) and I like to play a bit with the traditional Quaker stance on wearing hats. But for the last year or so, I’d been debating just buzzing or shaving my head.

It might not seem like a big deal to most of you, but I’ve basically had the same haircut for 30 years. I couldn’t really change it, because of my scars. And I spent most of my formative years trying to keep my scars covered. It’s not that I was ashamed of my scars or anything, but I know my parents wanted me to have a normal life without having to explain myself to everyone I meet.

But at 35, I was pretty miserable with the way my hair looked. I’m not the kind of guy to want to have to worry about my hair, and every time I went outside, it was either put on a hat, or have my ineffective comb-over blow around. I really envied other guys that could just cut their hair super short and not worry about it. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought, “Just cut it. Worst case scenario, you can let it grow back.”

So I got my hair buzzed today, by the same guy that’s cut my hair for most of my life. He cut it short, I looked at it and said, “Shorter.” He cut it again, and again I said, “Shorter.” Third time was the charm. I have to say that I really like it. Yes, my scars are showing. I even found a few that I actually didn’t know were there (probably from the expander incisions). I took a shower and almost didn’t know what to do with myself. I barely used any shampoo and it took less than a minute to dry what’s left of my hair! And thankfully, Mel seems to like it. She keeps coming up and petting me, so I guess I made the right choice! She’s be super supportive and helpful during all of this.

So, yeah. Like I said, might not seem like a big thing, but it’s a big deal for me and a real game-changer, I think. Mostly just getting it down her for posterity. Also, here are some before and after photos so you can see what I had going on, and what it looks like now:

Before –

After –