shampoo

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Writing on this little blog again after a few years idle reminds me of Jake.  Jake died just so many years ago that I can’t pinpoint the year anymore and yet not so long ago that I’ve forgotten him.  I suppose that’s the truth of most of those that leave us before we are ready for them too, but it’s certainly true about Jake.

Jake was a man of considerable thought and he read my stuff and wrote eloquent and thoughtful responses.  I thought about Jake as I wrote those pieces and wondered what he would think and what he would say.  He became my inner voice and a built-in filter… now what would Jake say if you wrote that?  If you go through the backlog you’ll see some of the responses he gifted me and you’ll see what I mean.  He was a good man.  Jake once gave me some shampoo.  It took me quite some time to live down the story of the shampoo.

…

See I work in a field where I am seen as… how do I say this politely… very, very old.  I was on a call with camp directors from across Canada last week and we were asked to talk about how we came to work at camp and how long we had been there.  It rattled out that I had been in my job longer than most everybody else has been in the industry and I came to my job with 10 years of experience in camp work.  A wonderful young man working as the Program Director at the camp where I cut my teeth did me the wonderful service of pointing out that I had been the Program Director during his first summer as a camper… when he was 7.  I had been a camp staffer for 6 years by then.

I once sat at a table of camp staffers and listened with a smirk as one of the Director types said something along the lines of “Yeah, I’m thinking about moving on.  26 is pretty old for camp work.”  I was 36 then.  That was more than a few years ago and yet here I am, still more or less loving my work and getting older every year as my staff stay the same age.  I work with 16-22 year old staffers.  It makes me feel like a dinosaur and keeps me young all at the same time but I love being the token old guy.  My staff graciously let me tag along on the great adventure of camp each summer and only make fun of me just a little.

I’m also profoundly bald.  I’ve actually been profoundly bald since my twenties, but this of course is one of the things I get made fun of just a little.  As my friend Rudy puts it “God gave some people beautiful heads, others he covered in hair.”  This is important for the story… don’t go making fun.

So with the context of being 140 or so in camp years and shiny bald, you get the story of a bottle of shampoo.

Jake was doing the cancer dance at the time and had a hairline similar to mine after a few turns on the chemo dance floor.  He finished his treatment and in the process of recovering got a hold of a bottle of shampoo to help regrow his hair.  Jake being a thoughtful and caring gent, brought me a bottle.  I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.  I long ago decided the only thing more pathetic than bald guy was a bald guy doing everything he could not to be bald.  I figured maybe God needed my hair more than I did or maybe it is a lesson in humility but you know my mom says I’m handsome bald so there’s that.

Anyway, I’ll try just about anything once so I lugged it home and put it in the shower.  The next time I sudsed up, I followed the directions and put a line on each forefinger and then smeared it on my shiny dome.  I waited the requisite minutes and noticed a growing sensation of… something.  It started as a mild tingle that progressed to an uncomfortable tingle that progressed to a mild burning that progressed to an uncomfortable burning that progressed to frantic rinsing and some… expressions.  When I came out of the shower I had red welts across the top of my head in the pattern of my two forefingers.  Well, I thought, that sucked.  I put the shampoo on the shelf and did not think about it again.  The welts faded and so did my dreams of thickening hair.

I didn’t think about it again until later that year when my summer staff began to act strangely.  One of them seemed fascinated with my pate.  I caught him inspecting my head and he was evasive when questioned about it.

This went on for a while until, as is the way of time and tight communities, he eventually admitted he had found some special shampoo in my bathroom on a bit of a snoop when we had him over for supper and he was starting to thin up top a bit himself and he was wondering, was it working?  I’d like to pretend I played it off all cool, but alas I haven’t always been as smooth as I am today.  This of course is the joke of the post… there is not a lot of smooth in Olfert blood.  I stuttered and stammered and likely turned red and tried to explain.  It was a running joke at camp for a few seasons.  Thanks Jake!

I can’t remember if I told Jake that story.  I hope I did, but I honestly can’t recall.  I drove down to attend his funeral the following spring.  Maybe he’ll read it here.  Maybe he’ll leave a great comment.

Miss you Jake.