THE BEAT GOES ON

It’s kinda funny how styles change over the decades, but there’s only so many things you can do with clothes, shoes, and hairstyles. As a kid back in the seventies, although we didn’t know it, the style was “skinny jeans”, if you were skinny, that is, but it was just Levi 501’s ordered extra long so they’d fit tight. Cuffing them up was part of the appeal.

Pretty soon it was bell bottoms, back to flairs, blah, blah, blah… and as Sonny and Cher sang, “The Beat Goes On”.

Converse tennis shoes were losing their appeal by the time I came around, but I remember them. They were all but gone in my high school days… now my daughters wear them.

Now I’m not sure polyester leisure suits are going to make a comeback, but if I were a bettin’ man, I’d bet dollars to doughnuts that platform shoes are going to get another turn. They already have for women, but I mean even for men.

By the time the ’70’s rolled around there wasn’t but a handful of kids in school that weren’t sporting a haircut with the “Feathered” bangs, parts down the middle the norm.

Come the ’80’s it was spiked hair and long in the back. That was before the style was officially named a “Mullet”. By the time it got the official name I’d moved on. Or back back in time.

While the fads come and go, a lot of folks, mostly the older ones, bail off the merry go round. My dad, and my older brothers for that matter, never slipped a pair of platforms on their feet. Not to mention polyester leisure suits… Then again they didn’t listen to top 40 radio either. And they never owned a Kiss eight track… 😳

By the early ’90’s I was reaching the age of not giving a hoot like the elders before me. After missing my scheduled haircut for a couple months in a row, I checked out.

Since then I’ve been to a place where they cut hair professionally about three times. And that was only a few years ago when I tried to join the ranks of normal folks with normal haircuts. I couldn’t hack it. It was just too much work.

For decades I’d have one of my girls get the thick pair of scissors out of the wooden kitchen knife scabbard, double ponytail wrap my hair and hack through it. I figured someone should get something for laziness or ADD, not sure which, maybe a little bit of both, so I’d send the cut ponytail to Locks of Love.

Just a couple days ago I hacked it off yet again. That’s nine times I’ve donated my hair. Between it turning grey and falling out, I’m not sure I’ll make a tenth. But I am sure I still hate going to the barbershop…

Ninth time.

Everything changes. There was a time when young people with long hair were held in contempt. One time I had a preacher pretty much point me out during a sermon for my hair. I guess he didn’t consider that I might be donating it… Or Samuel, or Samson, or Absalom, or even Paul before he wrote 1 Corinthians 11.

Fads will come and go… and long after I’m gone. There’s probably a pretty good chance that the judging of others won’t go away either. It gets passed down from generation to generation.

I have to remind myself of that every time I see someone that doesn’t look like me. When they have shaved heads and tattoos and piercings from top to bottom. When they wear hats and turbans. Or even when they dress like a CEO of a Fortune 500 company.

“For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

But we’ll all still go on struggling with judging a book by it’s cover. It’s part of living in a fallen world… and the beat goes on. For now…