Don't Stare...it's rude..

The simple task of shopping has turned into a study of society. Granted, I certainly expect a degree of stares..who wouldn't stare at a bald women with a seriously pale skull letting it all out there for the world to see.

I found the experience at Applebee's most interesting. Michael and I popped in there after a training walk (which the last 3 miles felt like a very modern version of the Bataan Death March - heat, humidity, no shade after 8 miles of some shade, humidity, and a slight breeze) to grab some lunch before hitting our other errands. The greeter didn't even bat an eye - cool. We were paraded off to a corner and seated. Our server swiftly brought us our wine and food, and after I scarfed down an entire order of Chili Cheese Nachos myself (such a piglet I can be) we were ready to go. Michael left his wallet out in the car, and I went to get it. I got up and proceeded to the door, passing by a corner table of 6 adults and 2 little kids. Without glancing at them I went to the door, but could literally feel their stares - like laser beams following me to the exit.

I got to the car, grabbed the wallet, and was passed by a vehicle who honked and gave me a thumbs up - that was quite cool, actually. Of course, he may not have been honking at me or doing the thumbs up for me since I certainly wasn't the only person in the parking lot...but, hey...I will revel in my own thoughts on that.

As I entered back into the restaurant, the greeter welcomed me again, and I walked past that infamous table of 6 adults, looked the eldest in the eye and gave an abbreviated nod. Michael looked at me and said "They were staring at you". I told him "I know...I could feel it." We finished up, and got up to leave...having to walk past THE table again. This time, as I walked by the table the entire group stopped chewing, and with heads lowered, eyes all simultaneously raised upwared and followed me.

I guess I just wondered what they were thinking. Perhaps I should have just sat down next to them and asked what at what they were looking so intently. Hindsight, I guess.

I think about the fact that this is my choice to do this, and remember that for many, it's not really a choice. I did not go bald to garner donations (however if you would like to donate click on the link on the upper right hand corner), I did this to get a better perspective of a different path of my life. So, I will keep it covered a bit in certain situations and when in not-frequented-by-us establishments.

Today, to our grocery store, which we visit at least twice a week, and know most of the staff....I kept it covered. Not because of the staff, or the shock on their faces...but because of the clientele. It is a grocery store with a majority of the shoppers are of proud Hispanic heritage, where doing what I have done, as my friend Dalia told me today, would make me look "ugly". I was kind of taken aback by that statement.

What defines beautiful and what defines ugly? In some cultures and in some age groups, a full head of thick strong hair makes a woman beautiful. In other cultures, a full figured woman with very short hair is classified as beautiful. And in our society as a whole...a woman's hair, by virtue alone, defines status, beauty, desirability, and success.

Bald can be beautiful. Bald can be stong, and courageous, and brave. It's time our society embraces it.

Memorial Day

As a former member of the military, I always find myself remembering people from training, from my unit in Colorado (shout out to Fort Collins 244th Combat Engineering Battalion!) and my friends that have served or have family currently serving. I sometimes wonder, had I re-enlisted, where would I be now?

I loved being in the military - many people joked that I was just a weekend warrior, as a Reservist, I wasn't really a soldier. But I always knew that if my unit was activated for Desert Storm, I would go like every other soldier. I did my Basic Training and Advanced Training at Fort Dix, New Jersey. It was definately a culture shock at first, but I found that the structure and routine worked for me. My parents used to joke that I wouldn't survive Basic Training and referenced the movie "Private Benjamin". I thought differently, and inundated myself the week before I left for training with movies like "Patton" and "Full Metal Jacket".

I remember my introduction to my Drill Sergeant (DS Armstead). He was all of 5' tall, thin as a rail, and thinking..."Really? This guy?". Then...he started yelling. Loudly. And he introduced me to the Iron Cross (stand straight with arms stretched out from your sides. Do not let your arms droop. Continue to stay in this position until he decides he is tired...which could border on forever) and to the classic push up...yea...this guy could be a bad ass.

Because of him, I learned to push myself farther than I thought I could. He taught me to believe in my own strength and convictions. He taught me to be strong. He made me want to dream bigger, reach further, and strive harder. He made me a better person, and for that I thank my Drill Sergeant.

I reflect on my time with my Reserve Unit, the 244th, often - from the ARTEP in South Dakota to the 2 week training in Socorro, New Mexico, to the drill weekends just at Fort Collins. It was always fun, always challenging, and always filled with great comraderie. I miss those guys (and I mean that seriously...100 soldiers at the unit....4 women)

So, wherever you are Stackhouse and Elizalde and Frisch and First Sergeant, I honor you for serving our country. Wherever you are Drill Sergeant Armstead...thank you.

"A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself." — Joseph Campbell

Happy Memorial Day!