Monday, November 4, 2013

My Mole Removal - A Preventative Measure


I did not chose baldness. It interrupted my hairline -- a small dimple on a healthy crop. These sorts of things do not go away. Once a hairline starts to backpedal, it does not reverse. Once a bald spot emerges, it only expands. I looked in the mirror and saw the inevitable. I was aging. Vanity gave me a noogey and left a mark.

So I chose to hasten the process. I bought a pair of Conair clippers and shaved my crown. That was the day Sharon reared her big, fat, ugly head. She was a mole of such gargantuan proportions that I named her.

Five years have passed, and Sharon and I have become close companions. Weekly we meet in the bathroom for a rendezvous with the clippers. She screams as the razor-sharp teeth come close. A few times they've bitten her. She bleeds. And when I'm done with my grooming, Sharon whispers in my right ear, "I'm still here. Bigger than ever."

Tomorrow at 11:20 a.m. I'm putting Sharon to rest. The time has come.
 
She's not cancerous, not technically. She's a mere, aesthetic blemish on my otherwise handsome head. But her faceless, naked presence reminds me of a different kind of cancer: My pride. The desire to cover up flaws, appear glossy, and make believe that I will live forever haunts the typical American. Wrinkle creams, Viagra pills, hair dyes, and gluten-free diets are marketed as elixirs from the Fountain of Youth.

These are lies, of course. The Bible depicts a single line to eternity, and it has more to do with the Rose of Sharon, than a Mole named Sharon. I have to remember that Jesus finds me lovely, even when I can always find something wrong with my face.

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