A Touch of Grey
…..I know the rent is in arrears
The dog has not been fed in years
It’s even worse than it appears
but it’s all right.
Cow is giving kerosene
Kid can’t read at seventeen
The words he knows are all obscene
but it’s all right….
Oh well a Touch Of Grey
Kind of suits you anyway.
That was all I had to say
It’s all right.
Touch of Grey, Robert Hunter
The first grey hair showed up when I was seventeen. This sudden loss of melanin in this particular follicle coincidentally followed my first Grateful Dead concert. It seemed a novelty at the time – – a rare phenomena like corn snow that would occasionally fall for two minutes every few years in Los Angeles and then melt quickly against the wet, warm asphalt. That single hair was a harbinger of a silver flood that would transform me from ingénue to elder statesman by thirty.
Dickens once said that “Regrets are the natural property of grey hairs.” While scientists insist the process of graying is genetic, I am convinced that I earned most of my silver the hard way. I am a firm believer that each grey hair is a “reward” for life’s travails: telling your boss what you really think, hitting a seventeen at the blackjack table with your semester’s spending money on the line, losing your toddler in a department store for an hour only to have her emerge laughing from a circular clothes rack where she had watched you frantically search muttering “she’s going to kill me. She’s going to kill me!” It’s having your computer literate child hack through every parental control application you have installed. It is a call at 3am.
Some people run from the grey. They use cosmetic products to mask the salt that starts to sprinkle in their hair. Guys, I hate to tell you but those products don’t seem to really work for men. I see a guy who I know is pushing fifty but he has hair blacker than a bowling ball at Rip Van Winkle lanes. It’s not good genetics. It’s bad shoe polish. And there are those who nurture their single strand of hair that could actually stretch across the state of Utah. Lovingly, each morning they wind that massive black mamba around their head, carefully avoiding swim parties, wind tunnels and head massages.
Grey is a state of mind. Youthful Satchel Paige, the oldest major leaguer of his day debuted for the Cleveland Indians at age 42 after years as a star in the Negro Leagues. He was the first African-American player in the American League. Ever the ingenue, Paige was constantly asked about his age. He would rhetorically ask, ”if you did not know how old you are, how old would you be?”
For me, it’s only as a result of mirrors and cameras that I am reminded that I have physically yielded to middle age. I still feel twenty and as my spouse will attest, I maintain a highly childish and warped sense of humor and see comedy everywhere….in growing up in a house full of boys, Will Ferrell, neo-conservatives, movies like This is Spinal Tap and The Big Lebowski and well, everything. Certainly my inability to be serious for sustained periods of time has sometimes proved a social impediment. However, immaturity occasionally serves as a tender bridge to a surly teenager or a disgruntled friend. It is also healthy. It’s a known fact that one’s immune system is reinforced through the simple act of laughter. Laughing suppresses the release of cortisol and epinephrine, two chemicals known to attack the immune system. According to studies “laughter activates the T cells, B cells, immunoglobulins, and NK cells; it helps to fight viruses, and regulates cell growth.” It starts with learning to laugh at oneself. Grey hair gives you permission. It’s a rite of passage and a merit badge that suggests you have been around long enough to know that Mel Torme was not a forward for the New York Knicks, Hunter S Thompson was not the 39th President and Jerry Garcia is not an ice cream.
A silver streak means you may have felt the deep ache of losing a close friend to illness. It means you have known disappointment. Grey means you are on your way to realizing the only person that can make you happy – – is you. It means you understand that comedy is tragedy plus time, and that you never burn a bridge because you invariably need to cross it again. Grey hair teaches you to be careful how you treat people on the way up because you will meet them again on the way down. A little frost around the temples means you understand that expectations can become resentments.
A little grey means you probably have lost something that you could not afford to lose. You most likely have discovered that you can’t control life but you can control how you react to it. A little salt and pepper has you finally figuring out the more you focus on other people, the less likely you are to feel sorry for yourself. You understand that fame and fortune can be a trap and that your legacy will be how many lives you have touched, not what you have accumulated. You understand that class is style, not stature.
Let’s face it, society celebrates youth and has a tendency to view “grey” the way some Americans view Europe – – old, past its prime and seemingly jealous of the adolescent that has arrived to assume the role of the Alpha. Youth may have size, strength and a sense of immortality but often lack the perspective that comes with age. Insight is gained through pain and the bitter experience of getting what you think you want only to find it is not what you needed. Grey is humility. It is being able to say “I’m sorry” but not spend the rest of your life self-flagellating. It is being able to laugh at your own expense, not at someone else’s. Grey may lack the visceral allure of youth but it radiates the intrinsic beauty of a centered soul. In the end, age teaches us that nothing in the world is black and white.
Everything, as the Grateful Dead suggest, has a “touch of grey “.