Long hair looked better when it was closer to my head

"What was I thinkin'?"

- Dierks Bentley

Hairstyles comes and hairstyles go.

But lately, I've noticed, they don't go as fast as I would like.

I speak of the current style favored by young men, including the junior member at my house.

I call it "the sheepdog" - straight and longish and combed over the eyes. It shares some similarities with the "bowl" haircut of the early Beatles with a little bit of Moe of the Three Stooges thrown in.

It shares another trait with hairstyles of yesteryear, too - it irritates parents, most of whom would like nicely trimmed short hair, the better to recognize the faces of a favored child.

There's irony here because I realize this hairstyle is not too much different from my own high school look, except we combed it out of our eyes, sweeping it to the left or right.

Remembering that makes me remember something else - my own father never said a word about my long hair.

Back in the 1960s and 1970s - when long hair was as much a political as a fashion statement - I grew mine fairly long. All the while, the old Navy petty officer and stalwart Goldwater Republican never hinted disapproval. When my military obligation was done in 1971 and I went more than a year without visiting a barber shop, he didn't complain. Not even when it draped over my shoulders during my Christmas home visit of 1972. Not even when I used a rubber band to keep it in a ponytail.

Years later, when my hair had become more businesslike, I asked him why he never found fault with my long-hair days.

He shrugged and said, "It was your head."

I pray for the same patience.

I also pray no one finds those old photos of the ponytail.

MORE MAIL: Linda, from Wrens, sends a postcard from Boston "just to make sure you got one." And Wendell Lyon, of Waynesboro, sends a postcard from Idaho, where he's attending a class reunion. He says it is "lovely this time of year."

TODAY'S JOKE: Here's another one from Billy Cooper:

It seems a little girl had just finished her first week of school and came home very upset.

"I'm just wasting my time," she said to her mother.

"Why is that, dear?" her mother asked.

"Well," the little girl said, "I can't read, I can't write and they won't let me talk!"

Reach Bill Kirby at (706) 823-3344 or bill.kirby@augustachronicle.com.