Hey "Skinhead"! (Part 1)

Skinheads. I bet the first thing that comes to mind is a radical gang of people who have all their hair shaved off so they are completely bald or high, pointed hair in a narrow line of an otherwise bald head.

They, both male and female, roamed all over European countries and America, striking fear in the hearts of the citizenry. There were a number of different groups the 1960s originating from the working class of youth forming violent hate groups called brotherhoods.

Some were known as punk rockers, white power skinheads, white supremacist and anti-Semitic groups of the subculture, which includes organized groups such as White Aryan, Neo-Nazi and spilling over into the United States with the Klu Klux Klan, better know as the KKK. Most visible here in the deep south, consisting of about 2,000 members in the late 1980s.

I would think the same too.

But you know what? Your wrong in this case. I am talking about me!

That's right: me.

For years, I was often called "skinhead" — though certainly not by the above definition. You see, my problem is I have what is called Alopecia Universalis. I don't have any hair on my body, none, nada!

In fact, the picture you see of me with blondish hair is a wig! That's right: a wig. It is one of eight that I own. All in different colors and styles.

Many years ago in the late 70s, during the very early years of being a Pastor/CEO/Executive Director of a street rescue mission in upstate New York, I ran headlong into my skinhead problem.

One day, as I was brushing my thick black hair I noticed some long strands of hair left in the brush. Not thinking much about it, I quickly removed and disposed of them and went off to work at the mission. In those days, I was the chief cook and bottle washer. We had an evening church service followed by a hot meal I made for the homeless and street people to come to. It lasted about an hour and then the mission was empty, except for me doing the dishes.

The event happen everyday: I bushed my thick dark hair and a few strands of hair in my brush ... each time more and more. I would look in the mirror and really didn't see a difference, but now I was starting to get a bit concerned.

As the days past in to weeks, more and more hair showed up on the brush and I start to see thinning spots on my head.

I finally went to my doctor who sent me to another doctor who knew about these hairy kinds of things. I was told that it was normal with aging and not to worry.

Boy, that is easier said than done.

You see, I was getting bald spots on the right side of my head. Not just one or two, but a growing number. I looked like I had the mange.

Here I was, a growing public figure in the community and having to talk at churches an other groups to try to keep the mission doors open.

I did everything I could, brushing the hair from left to right to hid the bald spots until it wasn't working very well. When the wind blew hard, my hair sprayed hairs would stand up straight and there I was, left side up straight and right side bigger bald spots.

Can you get the picture? Kind of funny, as long it isn't you. I started to be so self conscious, I just knew people were starting to talk.

I even started to think about leaving the ministry. Really! I had been praying my heart out to God and each morning I found more and more hair on my pillow.

I was in complete turmoil until one morning I woke up and found that God answered my prayers ... well sort of. My pillow was covered with my beautiful hair!

I ran to the huge bathroom mirror, the kind that goes corner to corner, and there I was completely bald. A shining dome! I was a "skinhead." And I was mad at God and, dear reader, there was yet more to come.