Buzz Cut

The year our son, Matt, became a sophomore in high school, he was transferred to the varsity water polo team. However, this early honor would later be tempered by a bit of adolescent rebellion, that "Mother Nature" decided to head off in royal style, when summer arrived.

Over the previous summer Matt had gained several inches in height to reach six feet, which attracted the eye of the water polo coach who was looking to add another goalie to the team. Matt could egg-beater kick, rising out of the water almost to his navel, but he was so skinny that he looked like a rake rising from the depths. Once he extended his long arms, though, Matt was very effective at blocking shots.

The rest of the water polo players had meshed very well as a team and Matt wanted to fit in. Some had nicknames, others were known for fierce "game faces" during tournaments, or for specific abilities against opponents. During a practice leading up to an important game, the coach exhorted the team to excel physically against a feared opponent and each team member was to come prepared psychologically, "ready to go to work!" So, Matt decided to take the coach's words to heart and develop his own trademark.

The day of the game as Matt exited the locker room and headed for the team bench, every eye in the crowd turned toward him. His hair, normally a dusty blond, was dyed flame red, the school color! Matt ignored the stares and catcalls as he took his place on the bench and set down a small attaché case, he'd carried in with him. The coach leaned over to say something, and Matt reached down and patted the case. I later learned he'd told the coach, "I came ready to go to work."

As the game progressed, Matt's hair was forgotten until the coach signaled for a goalie substitution. Matt stood up and an opposing team member jeered, "They're sending in the mascot!" Matt just grinned, snapped open the attaché case, reached in and pulled out his goalie cap. He laced the strap under his chin and as the red hair disappeared under the cap, Matt's entire demeanor changed. With a fierce game face and fire in his eyes, he leaped into the pool and took his position in front of the goal. Rising from the water, Matt blocked shot after shot as the grins faded from the faces of his opponents.

Matt had his trademark, and the team had a psychological weapon as the story spread from team to team about the happy-go-lucky kid with flaming red hair who became a devil in the water. Even after the season, Matt could be counted on to dye his hair for a pep rally or a car wash - or sometimes, I think, just to bug his parents and teachers. But his dyed hair was almost Matt's undoing during a summer job as a counselor at a camp in California's Sierra Nevada mountains.

As the school year ended, Matt had reluctantly honored our request, that he let his natural hair color grow out during the summer. After a final red dye treatment, Matt got his hair cut very short and it had turned an odd golden-rust shade by the time camp started. I drove Matt up the mountain road, parked at the crest and hiked with him down to Camp Wolfeboro where I volunteered to spend the day helping with camp set-up.

I was working near the staff tenting area when I saw Matt running toward me, dodging from side to side and flailing his arms above his head. I was concerned because I knew the camp forbids hazing, yet two other staff members were running alongside Matt, about ten feet out and roaring with laughter as they came closer.

"What's going on," I called out, as Matt ran up.

Out of breath he gasped, "Bees! The bees are in love with my hair!" He had no sooner spoken than two bumblebees, the huge, black, fuzzy kind, landed on his head. They didn't sting him; instead, they pawed though his hair like they had found some wondrous golden-rust flower. Matt shook his head, but the bees just circled and landed in his hair again.

The staffers guffawed and one shouted "We're getting him a hat," as all three dashed off to the tents. A moment later Matt returned wearing a floppy "Gilligan" style tennis hat pulled down to his eyebrows.

Matt furtively glanced over his shoulder. "They are out there!" he said, sweeping his hand toward the hill behind the camp. "Bees, just looking for me!" Tapping his wrist-watch Matt implored, "Dad, you have to leave, now! There's only one more group coming in today and you have to get to a store and back before they start to hike down the hill."

Matt whipped off his hat and running his fingers over his hair he pleaded, "Hair dye, Dad. I need you send down some hair dye, please! BLACK hair dye!"

Ah, those rebellious teen years. How did any of us survive?