Rather, the true boogeyman that slithers into one's brain from underneath the bed or from that cob-webbed corner of the closet is Male-Pattern Baldness. It's a horrifying curse spoken about only in whispers and hushed murmurs. It's that pervading fog that envelopes any family room, chilling our hearts and seizing us with frosty, unbreakable terror.
I remember when I was a child I wouldn't be scared with classic taunts or spooky ghost stories grandparents and cousins are want to say in order to get a rise out of children. Oh no. When anyone in my family placed a flashlight under his/her chin to get the atmosphere just right to relinquish the details of a terrifying ditty, it was always the same threat: "You're genetically prone to go bald!"
My family could be so encouraging and so hopefully optimistic about the future. Any day of the week, they would be first in line to tell their children that those kids could go on to achieve anything if they set their little minds to it. They could conquer the world a thousand times over with the right attitude and determination. The American Dream was a real, tangible idea, and the moon was a destination worthy of shooting for. All because it was attainable within the realm of the parental figures' logic. Yet, there always was a curse these children would never be able to shake. While these bright little boys (all boys in my immediate family) could go on to build Fortune 500 companies from the ground up, they would have to come to terms with losing their hair.
NO ONE ESCAPES GENETICALLY TRANSFERRED BALDNESS!
I can't speak for my brother, but the grave tones my father used to try and help me cope and come to terms with this realization sent shivers down my spine. It was worse than death. I was going to end up hairless. My head was going to be cold in the winter. Worst of all, I was going to look like one of those aliens from Fire in the Sky.
Scary looking, isn't it?
I couldn't have this. I didn't want to choose this destiny or suffer this grisly fate. Why did all my relatives pass on this gene?
I wanted to curse the Heavens - pull a Gary Oldman in Bram Stoker's Dracula and ram a sword into a giant cross to forsake our lord and savior for such an abominable future.
Now that I think about it, it's funny that this kind of torment plagued a child of 7.
"Settle down, bucko. While you can be president some day, there's something I just gotta tell ya. You're going to lose all your hair. There's no way you can escape it. One day you're going to wake up, and it's going to be all over your pillow, withered and dead, and you're going to have to wear a hat to hide the fact that what's left of the hair on your head looks goofy and unattractive."
While my friends were quaking in their boots about zombies actually being real and eating up all the citizens in our town, I was quaking before a mirror, rigorously coming those dark brown strands of hair still on my head, counting down the days until when it may strike.
I bring this story up as a funny little quip and also because there is a sense of pride that comes with this notion. This past weekend, one of my distant cousins (my father's cousin) celebrated his 50th birthday. He had a surprise party thrown for him at a bar in Chicago, and all his friends and family showed up to kick back a few beers and create memories.
Now, this side of the family is one I don't see too often. For one reason or another, we don't bother to take the time and visit too much, so many of these people I hadn't seen in over a decade. Two such relatives were the sons of the man turning 50th. One was my age, and the other was a few years younger.
Upon meeting them again and reminiscing a bit, I saw something sorrow-filled and downtrodden in their eyes. The curse had gotten them already. The one who was 24 had a receding hairline, and his once full head was thinning. His younger brother had a bald spot forming near the back of his head like some alien crop circle, spiraling its way bigger and bigger until his whole scalp was consumed.
They smiled and made much merry-ness of the evening's festivities, but their destinies had been fulfilled. The boogeyman had surely come knocking, and their lives will never be the same ever again.
Suffice to say, I'm still waiting for that dark companion to spring forth from the shadows and lay waste to my soft head. I'm one of the few holdouts, and I will continue to holdout for as long as I can, barricading myself from the genetic deterioration that will surge through my system.
One day, Lady Fate will cease to be so kind.
