My older son looked at himself in the mirror, turning his head slowly.
He seemed to like what he saw and looked proud.
“Do you like your face because your mom gave you good genes?”
I joked. He smiled and said,
“Mom, I think every girl I meet likes me.”
“Well, of course! My son is handsome, has good manners, and a good sense of humor. Who wouldn't like you?”
His younger brother, who was sitting nearby, looked up with a shocked face, like,
"Look at this guy and mom—what a pair!"
Then, without saying a word, he went back to reading his book.
“What was her name again? That pretty girl you've known since middle school? You go to the same college now, right? Is she your girlfriend?”
“No, just a friend.”
“I really like her. Why not try dating her? Doesn’t she like you?”
“She does… but her family isn't good.”
“Oh, come on. If she’s smart and kind, that’s all that matters. If you're too picky, all the good girls will be gone by the time you go bald!”
“Wait, Mom—am I going bald?!”
He suddenly got serious and checked his hairline in a panic.
“No, not yet. But don’t be so full of yourself,” I said, laughing.
I sometimes worry—what if my son really starts losing his hair? I wouldn’t care if I lost my hair, but if he did? How would he feel? Would he be upset?
I think of my father—his grandfather. Sometimes I lift my son’s hair gently when he’s sleeping,
“Not yet… or maybe it's starting?”
They say baldness comes from the mother’s side of the family.
My father is completely bald. My mom used to stand on the 4th floor balcony and look out. When she saw my dad walking toward the house, she’d ask,
“Is he coming or going?”
Because even from the back, his head looked like a face—no hair anywhere. Dad hated people who tried to hide their baldness by combing over a few strands of hair.
“Why bother? One gust of wind and it's over. Look at me—I just brush it all straight back.”
I once joked,
“But Dad, you don’t even have hair to brush back!”
He laughed and said,
“Does a short person look taller by wearing high heels? No—they just look like they’re trying too hard. So what if I’m bald or you are short? What matters is finding what you love and working hard at it.”
Back in the mirror, my son’s happy face turned serious again. He brushed his hair back and muttered,
“What if I really go bald?”
“So what?” I told him. “Men need talent, not just looks. You can’t live on your face alone. As you get older, there are more important things than looks.”
Maybe he was remembering his grandfather in Seoul last summer.
My son cares a lot about his appearance. If he really does go bald one day, will he blame me? Maybe I should open a savings account to help him afford hair implants later. If money can fix it, then hey—it’s not such a big deal!
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