Sunday Is National Coming Out Day, but My Secret Can’t Wait

Sunday is National Coming Out Day, but I’ve decided to come forward 24 hours early. I’ve carried this burden for years, and I refuse to let another sunrise pass without telling the world who I really am.

I realize this announcement may shock friends, relatives, and people who’ve stood next to me at the grocery store. Some may need time to process it. Others will insist they suspected all along.

I’m white.

There, I’ve said it.

Please respect my privacy while I adjust to making such a personal revelation in public. I thought I’d concealed it beautifully, but family photographs, every driver’s license I’ve owned, and a lifetime of sunburns tell a different story.

And there’s more.

Sigh. I’m short.

Not cartoonishly short, just short enough that when a group photograph is organized, someone inevitably asks me to move to the front. I’ve never understood why trousers are sold with so much extra leg. The pitfalls of having a negative inseam?

I once went to a concert and enjoyed three straight hours staring at a stranger’s shoulder blades. Wonderful band, I’m told. I understand the lead singer was particularly impressive.

Also, I’ve never actually seen a parade. I’m the last to know if it’s raining, and I can play racquetball against the side of a curb.

This next admission could permanently alter how people see me. I’ve agonized over the wording, rehearsed it in the bathroom mirror, and considered telling my family one by one.

I’m heterosexual. My wife will be devastated to learn how long I’ve kept this from her. She’s endured years of marriage to a short, white man who is secretly a lesbian living in a man’s body, only to discover that he likes women. 

I pray our relationship survives the revelation that I’ve been particularly fond of one woman for quite some time.

If you’re wondering why I’ve revealed so much at once, please understand that the worst is still ahead. One final truth is still hidden beneath hats, strategic lighting, and the occasional hopeful glance at a bottle of shampoo.

I’m BALDING!

I know.

Take a moment.

I did, right after noticing my forehead had slowly become the back of my head.

For 30 years, my hairline has been retreating without a forwarding address. The hair on the sides appears committed, but the troops up top deserted their posts. I don’t need a combover; I’d need a comb-across-county-lines.

There are benefits. Windy days don’t bother me, because there’s little left for the wind to rearrange. The only brush I still bother with is a paddle brush, roughly the equivalent of using a snowplow to clear three leaves off the driveway.

Shampoo commercials have become science fiction. I once bought a product promising extra volume, and it turned my remaining three dozen hairs into a noisy committee. I stopped going to the barber because I’m still charged full price. I’ve always wondered: if salons charge more for women with extra-thick or long hair, why wouldn’t a balding gentleman get a reduced rate?

The cruelest part is that my hair hasn’t vanished; it’s transferred to my ears, eyebrows, and places that I’d rather not discuss on a family channel. I’ve learned that the longest hair on my head is basically coming out of an ear.

Apparently, I don’t suffer from hair loss: I suffer from poor distribution.

This obsession started long before today’s confession. About 35 years ago, I worked in the Menards advertising department, on a team that designed the weekly flyer and sent it to print. 

One assignment was to put a famous quotation at the bottom center of the page, but I always slipped in my own: “One thing about baldness: It’s neat.”

Friends still working there tell me that my made-up quotes are still being used. Apparently, my legacy is a joke about a problem I eventually grew into.

So there it is.

White. Short. Heterosexual. Balding.

All four truths, finally exposed to the sunshine.

I’m not asking for applause, a parade, or a commemorative ribbon; just a little understanding, a great hat, and perhaps some sunscreen.

Sunday belongs to National Coming Out Day. Today, however, I’m getting ahead of it, which is more than I can say for my hair.

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