The day that Jamaal shaved his head was a day for history.
He walked in to the barber, and after six years of growing his hair, long, luscious locks reaching to his shoulders, he said, “Take it all.”
The barber looked at him, and said, only once, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Shave me bald.”
The barber shrugged, got his clippers, and started in.
It took some forty minutes to remove everything, then take the razor and get Jamaal’s head as smooth as an egg. But when the deed was done, Jamaal smiled, paid the man, and walked out into the sun.
It was cold, that first step out. Surprisingly so. Jamaal wasn’t ready for the chill on his scalp, and wished he had brought a hat. Never mind, though, I can take it. He walked on, trying hard to ignore now-constant draft.
When he reached his friends, they didn’t recognize him at first. When he walked up, and said, “Sup,” though, they knew. And they were shocked.
He had to explain why several times. He answered questions of where and when (“Down the block, just finished about twenty minutes ago, it’s why I’m late”). And he had to deal with everyone rubbing his scalp, which he was really quite okay with.
Though it took some time to adjust, everyone decided that Jamaal looked better bald, and he was eventually praised for his good choices.