The Night I Became a Colonel, My Mother-in-Law Cut My Hair While I Slept—By Morning, I Was Done Obeying Them

That was all.

I went to the bathroom.

Looked at my scalp.

The abrasions were healing.

Hair was already beginning to shadow the skin.

I expected to hate the way I looked.

Instead, I began to like it.

Not because baldness represented toughness.