Youth means Mohawks, mullets and railing against corporations

To be young again.
No matter your age, the desire to be younger is a wish many people have. This desire revealed itself to me a couple of times this week, not because I celebrated another birthday Tuesday when I turned 34, but because a couple of college-age people reminded me how much fun it was.
The first reminder occurred Saturday when I was leaving Empty Bowls at Stevens Point Area Senior High School. As I was walking out the door, I spotted a young man trying to get his hair just right as he was going in. His hair wasn’t ordinary, though, it was a Mohawk that extended at least a foot off his head, and getting it to do so took a special comb I had never seen before.
My initial thought was he was brave to have such a daring hairstyle, as I’m sure a lot of people must comment – both negatively and positively – on it, and the negative comments probably outnumber the positive ones. And even if they didn’t, one negative comment can be more emotionally damaging than the good feeling a person may gain from 10 positive ones.
But then I thought, good for him. He’s only young once, and when it’s time for him to get a job in the real world, or when his hair begins prematurely falling out because of a stupid gene called baldness, his hairstyle would most likely be inappropriate for his own good.
It’s like the old rock ’n’ roll cliché, “Smoke ’em if you got ’em,” except instead of smoking (I could insert a lecture here about the dangers of smoking, but I’ll spare everybody since they are well documented), he’s sporting an alternative hairstyle because now is the time for him to do so.
It was no different than when I was in high school. Back then, I had hair and lots of it. I could put my hand through my hair and literally lose it in there because I had so much. Unlike now in which my hand feels mostly head and little hair.
In high school I had a mullet, not an ironic mullet like some people grow now to make fun of the hairstyle, but a bold and true mullet that was meant to be cool. Hey, it was 1989 and that was cool then, well at least at Berlin High School it was.
My mother told me I needed to cut it once, telling me grandma doesn’t like long hair.
I responded in such a way she never bothered me again about it. “Mom, Jesus had long hair.” She couldn’t argue that one.
The other reminder occurred when I went into a local store to buy an item exclusive to corporation giant. I thought there might have been a chance the store owner found a way to import it so people that don’t particularly like the retail giant could buy it without going there, even if it might cost a little more. The owner wasn’t there, but one of his college-age workers was.
“No, we don’t have it because (the name of the store) is an evil corporation, set out to control the world,” he told me. He also said a few choice swear words about the corporation.
When my wife and I left the store, we both chuckled. We chuckled because we completely agreed with him, but also because he was bold enough to say everything he did. We were both dressed in our work clothes, and he had never met us before, so as far as he could know we could have both been corporation-loving yuppies who may have been offended by his statement and swear words.
But I was him when I was younger. I wasn’t afraid to rail against corporations, including the one he was talking about. This is even more ironic for me because I talked about this corporation the same way even though I worked for said corporation for seven years through high school and college. I needed to pay the bills, plus it gave me insider knowledge to justify my arguments.
I’m older now, and smart enough to not name the corporation we talked about. I’m also smart enough to know a crazy hairstyle won’t get me ahead in life. But a few reminders about the fun of youth every once in awhile can bring a smile to my bald, no-longer-hating-corporations self.