My Dad Hates Bald Men

      I asked my father if he would take me to a local Gold’s Gym so that I could get in a good workout. I had not trained for over a few weeks and I was itching to put my body through a grueling workout. Mainly however, I was inspired to take my father to the gym so that he could workout with me. Since his health was depleted from years of heavy drinking I wanted to inspire him to take care of himself by indulging in better nutrition and a moderate weight training routine. I fantasized that I would be able to help him to regain his former youthful vigor and masculine beauty by setting him up on such a routine.

      In addition, the thought that perhaps I would finally be able to interest my Dad in an activity of which we could both participate in together was also a huge motivator.

      My brother James and I have always lamented that the only interest that our Dad shared with us was the pursuit of sex with attractive women.  To my way of thinking, any guttersnipe of no account also shared these baser pursuits. James and I had always wished our Father would develop a desire to implement our joint resources and go into business together; or at the very least, we have always held a meager hope that he would see the wisdom to mentor us: or to introduce us to some of his friends that could share their vast knowledge on how best to make it through the world.

      To my great disappointment, my Father had not the least interest or desire to workout or to learn anything about training. He merely wanted to watch me go through the paces of my workout – and so I did.

      My Dad watched me train and as he did I could sense that he was as proud of me as were the owners of the triple crown winning horse Secretariat. His chest swelled even more when a few of the patrons of the gym had complemented me on the poundage’s that I had pushed around during training. (I had managed to finish off with twice my bodyweight in the bench and three times the amount with the squat).

      I kept trying to encourage my father to join in, but to no avail. In the middle of my workout, my father came over and leaned in towards me in a conspiratorial manner.            

      “He tried to whisper and failed, Hey Laz, Laz, he snickers and tries to point slyly at a tall lean man working hard on a treadmill and he fails. The man appears to be in his late fifties.

      My Dad looks at the guy and then snickers once again. “Laz, why does that guy even bother?”

      “Excuse me? What do you mean?”

      “Look at him… he’s bald!”

      I was startled and put off balance by his remark. I simply failed to see why a bald man would evoke such a response from my father – surely the sight of a bald man could not be a surprise to him - after all the world was filled with bald men – his Father… my Grandfather being one of them.

      Still confused, “What does that have to do with anything? Why shouldn’t he even bother with working out?”

      “Well he’s bald for Christ sake! He’s not going to be able to get laid no matter how much he works out! What woman would want to go to bed with him!

      The handsome man my Father was judging harshly looked over at my Father, evidently he was able to hear my Father’s shallow perspective.

      “So much for his sorry attempt to whisper, I thought.

      My Dad ran his hand through his obviously badly dyed thick wiry hair and with a look of smug superiority on his face and he crows, “Ah, I’m glad I still have most of my hair!”

      My mind reeled from my Dad’s skewed values and perspective of the world. I was filled with embarrassment – for him, and for the man on the treadmill and at that moment mostly for me being associated with a person that suffered from skewed values and a lack of impulse control.

      I looked back at the man quickly, hoping he would not look at me in the same light as my Father.

      Several emotions were warring on the man’s face; amazement over my Father’s rude public outburst, irritation, contempt and disdain and I was almost sure that he had an air of smug satisfaction over his station in life. He had the manner of a man that was powerful in all the ways that mattered in the world. And why not? Years of heavy drinking and physical neglect destroyed my Father’s physical beauty and animal vigor. In the formers place was a physically corrupted and wasted apparition whose pride pegged on the fact that he had retained most of his hair and he loved to tell anyone that would listen that he had a big dick.

      In comparison, the bald man on the treadmill was almost as handsome as both the actors Pernell Roberts and Sean Connery. Though his remaining hair was white, his face had healthy color and was remarkably devoid of the signs of age that I guessed that most men his age have. His body was long, lean and muscular and possessed obvious resilience and strength; and judging from the pace and length of time he had spent on the treadmill – I bet he competed in six and twelve kilometers runs regularly and very likely won more than his share.

      It would not have surprised me if this man were in fact immensely successful in business and in various relationships. In fact it would have surprised me if he had any trouble getting laid.

      Still smarting from embarrassment, I attempted to publicly distance myself from my Father’s bizarre values.

      I spoke loudly so that the man who was the object of my Father’s contempt would know that I was a long absent son visiting a sick father with the intention of encouraging my Father to practice a disciplined lifestyle.

      “Come on Dad, I said loudly, you have to understand that not everyone works out only because they are trying to be attractive, nor are they trying to impress anyone. Many people actually like to workout because of how it makes them feel both mentally and physically.

      In fact, more women are impressed with a man that is as fit as he – it shows that he is disciplined and has grit and determination. Historically, men who keep in shape are more than likely to be better providers and role models for their children and better lovers.”

      My Dad did not look convinced, hey, I get no complaints from the women I put it to.”

      I sighed and felt dismayed and I wondered why did God have to assign me a father that was undisciplined and shallow and inconsiderate of other people’s feelings. But mostly however, I marveled over the fact that my Father had a skewed sense of reality. Could he not see how other people responded to his actions? Did he not notice the looks of amazement or appalled expressions on the faces of normal citizens? Or did he simply not care?