Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Sunday.

I came out of Trumble’s Restaurant early one afternoon.

I’d been there for a meeting held for the good of all mankind.

The day was retina-burning bright. As I attempted to blink the sun away, a man got out of a vehicle and called my name.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” said an old friend named Charlie who I hadn’t seen for years. “You’re losing your hair.”

“Really?” I said in mock astonishment. “I had it when I went into the restaurant.”

I ran back into the eatery and quickly went into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. Charlie was right. It’s becoming lonely at the top.

Mirrors let us know that we are still around, that we aren’t a vampire and they come in handy to see if we have something green stuck between our teeth. But a mirror isn’t a friend to most people. It tends to point out our flaws and it isn’t a subtle critic. Don’t take the criticism of the glass too hard. If you break a mirror, you get seven years bad luck.

Charlie admitted that his hair count wasn’t as high as it once had been. He said that the wind had been blowing his away.

A man told me that he hadn’t lost his hair. He was keeping it in a shoebox. The same guy added that grass doesn’t grow on a busy street.

We think about getting old, but we don’t think much of it. Back when I was young and knew everything (now I don’t even suspect much), I’d heard a Dutch proverb that said, “For the concert of life, no one receives a program.” Every day brings surprises. A forehead rises and frost appears at the temples. Losing my locks is OK. My hair wasn’t contributing all that much to my happiness. Balding is OK. At least it doesn’t cause gout, and it saves time that would have been spent combing. I can use that time to bring about world peace.

Many people feel the need to tell you that some of your hair is missing. A young grandson said, “You’re going bald, Grandpa.” Grandchildren can be cruel. That’s why they have to be cute in order to get away with it.

When I was my grandson’s age, I’d watch the barber shave Dr. Buturf’s head. Dr. Buturf was the physician in Hartland and Freeborn, and he was the first person I’d ever seen getting his head shaved in a tonsorial parlor. The closest to that was when boys got a close-cropped haircut called a crew cut, butch haircut, buzz cut, burr cut, flattop and countless other names. Dr. Buturf looked good with a shaved head. He looked like a Dr. Buturf should, but I’m not sure that he looked cool in a hip way. Yul Brynner and Telly Savalas tried to make bald cool, but it didn’t work. John Wayne, Frank Sinatra and Burt Reynolds donned hairpieces in order to demonstrate how uncool baldness was. Some men look good wearing toupees. Others, well, it’s like putting lipstick on a pig. Michael Jordan succeeded in making bald cool.

My Uncle Bill was a barber for forever and a day. When I asked him to take a little off, he heard, “Don’t leave a single hair standing.”

I was a sheep at a shearing. My hair carpeted the area around the barber chair. I should have kept some of that hair. Now I believe that the cost of a haircut should be determined per hair.

If you are going bald or somewhere else you’ve never been, it’s a good idea to ask for directions. A guy told me that going bald was worse than being bald. You think more highly of your hair while you have it.

It could be worse. I could be an oak tree and lose all my foliage every year.

I’m not really losing my hair. Hair is moving from the top of my head to my nose and ears. A friend lets the hair grow long in one of his ears and then combs it over the top of his head.

A man could wear a paper bag over his head. A football helmet. A baseball cap. There used be an infomercial that offered a paint that you sprayed on your head.

Not counting those who shave their heads, there are two reasons men go bald. It’s either due to heredity or to illness. Of those two, heredity is certainly the preferred.

Genetics is the gift that keeps on giving.