Brocky Blue Head

I am the oldest child. For awhile, I was an only child. Then this kid came along:

Notice the big, bald head.

This is my brother Brock.

I was not impressed.

For a year and a half, I had been the darling one. The adorable one. The one who screamed whenever I was put down. The one who talked at six months and yelled, "He's looking at me!!!" every time her dad glanced her way. The one who wouldn't eat unless she had something to distract her.

What was this thing?  This monster?

I did not like it. It cried, especially when I tried to put it in a headlock. Or bite it, which I frequently did. Gnawing on its little fingers, I quickly dropped them when my parents looked my way.

The face of an angel?

Plus, it was bald. I mean, really, really bald. Its little head wobbled all around, gleaming at me. It had hair once. When it was born, it had a full head of black hair. Then it all fell out.

I, ever the problem solver, decided that it may be ugly, it may cry and hog the attention, but it didn't need to be bald and frightening on top of everything else. Ugly as a baby bird at birth, I myself had only the thinnest of hair.

I had a plan.

My parents left me unsupervised. HaHA! Perfect. I sneaked into where it lay -- unsuspecting. Its little head bald as an egg. I took out my blue colored marker.

I approached, quietly. Sneakily. I uncapped the marker.

And colored all over its little head.

My parents suspected something. The jig was up.

Preemptively I screamed,

"LOOK! IT'S BROCKY-BLUE HEAD!!!!!" 

My parents were not amused. 

They took away my markers. 

And I my hair stopped growing until the age of four. 

Behold my bowl cut.

  -whitters