That's the Fact, Jack: Uncle Nick and the Headstand Bum.

That’s the Fact, Jack: Uncle Nick and the Headstand Bum

A 1960s hair story for anyone who remembers the Beats.

Every family has one. Ours is Uncle Nick.

Navy man. Businessman. Restaurant man. Self-made, sharp-dressed, and bald as a cue ball since before I could ride a bike. Uncle Nick had everything a man could buy, except the one thing money never could: a head of hair.

And every time he sees me, his eyes go straight up. Not to my face. To my scalp.

“How the hell do you still have all that?” he asks, like I stole it from him.

Here’s the truth, and I’ll tell it straight.

When I was a kid, my dad had a bookshelf. Not a fancy one. Just a plank of wood holding up the whole world. On it was Jack Kerouac. On the Road. I pulled it down because the cover looked like trouble, and trouble was my favorite subject.

Somewhere in those pages was a bum. A drifter. A man with nothing in his pockets and everything in his head. And every single day, that man stood on his head.

Didn’t explain it. Didn’t apologize for it. Just flipped himself upside down and let the blood run where it wanted.

I was a kid. I didn’t know about yoga, circulation, or any of that. I just knew a free man stood on his head, and I wanted to be free.

So I started doing it. And I never stopped.

Now look at the family photos. The uncles, the cousins, the old men lined up at weddings and funerals. Shine, shine, shine. Then there’s me. Thinning a little, sure. Balding, maybe. But bald? Not a chance.

Is it science? I don’t know. Is it the headstand? I believe it is. And belief is half of everything anyway.

So when Uncle Nick leans in and asks me again how I kept my hair, I tell him the same thing every time.

“A bum taught me, Nick. A Kerouac bum. Blood to the roots.”

He shakes his head. He laughs. He doesn’t believe a word of it.

And like Bill Murray said in Stripes...

That’s the fact, Jack.

Any questions, comments and/or concerns?

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For entertainment purposes only