Announcing Hamilton County Band of Baldies Support Group

Full disclosure: I’m bald.

But you already knew this, thanks to the complementary photo with this column.

Sometimes I’ve noticed my column on the obit page. Seeing my face staring back at me from among all the faces of people that have met the ultimate deadline is a bit jarring. What this placement says about my column, I’m unsure.

I suspect this newspaper runs such headshots as a means to disclose the state of a columnist’s pate and ensure that no readers experience shock and dismay should they somehow learn that a particular bald guy in the grocery store fruit section just happens to be their favorite column writer, thus keeping scenarios like the one below from occurring:

HUSBAND: Say, Janis, look at that guy handling the kiwifruit.

WIFE: The one with the weak hairline?

HUSBAND: That’s being generous. What hairline? He’s totally bald.

WIFE: I’ve never seen someone cry amongst kiwi before.

HUSBAND: He’s probably thinking, “Even a lousy kiwi has some semblance of hair.”

WIFE: Bald as a baboon butt.

HUSBAND: Why insult baboons, Janis? That’s not very David Attenborough of you.

EAVESDROPPING SHOPPER: That’s Scott Saalman, a local newspaper columnist.

HUSBAND: Scott Saalman is bald!?????? But he writes like he has hair!

EAVESDROPPING SHOPPER: A coconut has more hair than him.

WIFE: I wonder if baboons ever comment, “Our butts are as bald as Scott Saalman’s head.”

HUSBAND: Janis, enough with the baboon butts.

WIFE: How dare the newspaper deceive us!

HUSBAND: They should at least run his photo – just so we know the truth!

WIFE: We should cancel our subscription, John.

HUSBAND: Cancel?! I bet we could sue. Bald! I’ll never ever read Scott Saalman again. Let’s just read Janet Hart Leonard’s column. She has nice hair.

WIFE: Scott had so much promise when we thought he had hair.

EAVESDROPPING SHOPPER: OMG! Did he just punch a kiwi?

WIFE: And now look—

HUSBAND: Is he actually—

WIFE: Yes, John, I believe he is actually—

EAVESDROPPING SHOPPER:  He’s rubbing the kiwi’s juice on his scalp!

HUSBAND: He must think it’s a cure for baldness. Probably read it on the internet.

Yes, I am bald.

Even my shadow looks bald. How sad is that … a bald shadow?

One morning I found a hairbrush that had been split into two pieces near the sink, as if there had been an epic bathroom battle earlier. My wife’s hair is so thick that it breaks brushes. Her hair is her superpower. You would think Brynne would have the common decency to at least hide the broken brush from her bald husband. We baldies have feelings too.

And don’t get me started on the man bun! Sporting a man bun in the presence of a bald man is like a matador waving a red cape before a bull. ‘Look at all my hair. I have so much hair that the only thing I can do with it is form it into something akin to a hairball.’ Every time I see a man bun, I want to scream, “Scissors! Someone get me scissors!”

I was called out for having a bald spot in fifth grade. My teacher, Mr. Beatty, who was bald-like, took me under his wing (Yoda-like, but with less hair) as if excited to have someone else balding in his classroom. I have been hair-impaired far longer than I’ve had hair. I think the last time I handled a comb was during eighth-grade picture day. I used to love repeatedly running a finger along the comb’s teeth. The sound soothed me, like insect love songs. Now, I don’t think I could properly use a comb without instructions.

There are support groups for everything, so why not one for bald guys? If your own shadow shames you, you probably need all the support you can get. I’m tempted to form a Hamilton County Band of Baldies (HCBB) group. During meetings we can talk smack about traitor friends who ditched us while in shameless pursuit of regrowth, restoration, and replacement.

You didn’t hear it from me, but the secret ingredients to hair-growth formulas in those fancy, tiny, spray bottles are as follows: 85 percent kiwi juice / 10 percent eye of newt / 5 percent fragrance (baboon fart).

Not too long ago, I was driving behind a motorcycle crossing an intersection just as another motorcycle crossed from the opposite direction. Both bikers simultaneously greeted the other with a nonchalant hand gesture involving two fingers pointed at a downward angle. The “two-finger motorcycle wave” is how fellow motorcyclists express solidarity … sort of a secret handshake without the shake.

There should be a similar hand signal to reinforce bald guy unity. That’s why today I’m introducing what I call the “slap & slide wave” (patent pending). From now on, I will slap the back of my skull with my right palm, slide my right hand forward across my crown, and then, while keeping my right thumb tip on my forehead, wiggle my right hand’s four remaining fingers at an approaching fellow bald guy. Eventually, once it catches on, I hope the “slap & slide” is reciprocated.

For beginners, I suggest practicing at a mirror before doing it in public – for you don’t want to make a fool of yourself.

I’ll see you over by the kiwis.

Contact: scottsaalman@gmail.com