Warning: Old Man’s Ear Hair Freely Discussed Here

A few weeks ago, Amy and I took a rare night out to go to a play that a good friend of ours was in. Standing in line outside the theater, waiting for the house to open, we ended up standing behind some season ticket holders, all of which were older folks, divided mostly into couples. One gentlemen was by himself, though, and even if he had been in a crowd, his status would have been evident by one aspect: his ear hair.

I’m aware of the ridiculous things that happen to men as they grow older, and I’m certainly not looking forward to any of them. I could go down the list, but ear hair is the worst, and I’ll tell you why. It’s because, unless someone feels comfortable enough to tell you that it can been seen by the entire general public, there’s no way you could ever be aware of it on your own. Seriously, I’ve tried to see my own in the mirror. There’s just no angle or configuration of multiple reflective surfaces you can pull which affords both the right sight lines and the correct lighting to see if there’s anything there, much less guide your hands toward removing it. All you can really do is stick an electric trimmer in the vicinity every week or so and hope for the best.

And that’s clearly all the solitary guy waiting in line could do. He might not even have known to do that much; he had a disturbing “blossoming” situation going on, so much so that I was surprised he could hear anything. All I could think was that there’s no one looking out for this guy. He’s got to figure this out all by himself. It was kind of depressing, even after someone came to stand in line with him. It was an older woman about his age, maybe a good friend, but it clearly wasn’t his wife. If it were, my guess is that would have taken better care of him.

Maybe that’s the lesson that ear hair has to teach us (and I can’t believe that I actually just wrote that sentence). The lesson is that we need someone that close to us, who can tell us when things aren’t right. Not only do we need to be told sometimes, but someone has to be willing to take tweezers in hand and right the wrongs, ones that we not only aren’t aware of, but are in blind spots we *can’t* be aware of. It’s a special brand of intimacy, and I’m very thankful to report that I have it in my life. I know beyond a doubt that I’d just be another guy with ridiculous ears if I didn’t.