Promise #20: Wear a helmet

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Every brain has a front office where executive decisions are made. It’s called the prefrontal cortex. Good versus evil; consequences versus kudos; control versus chaos; chocolate versus vanilla. It’s all decided in cushy space located at the forefront of the forehead.

I have a huge forehead. My brother always referred to it as a “big blockhead.” I’m not scarred by this. In fact, the only reason I recently asked my hairdresser, Kelly, to sweep my bangs across my forehead was because I thought it might look pretty. “Really?” she inquired, “Nobody’s ever requested a forehead comb-over before.” A first for us both.

As luck would have it, I stumbled upon a wonderful bit of insight that I wish I had years ago. Professor Samuel R. Wells, a leader in phrenology, wisely wrote that the forehead “in natural total idiots is very diminished.”  Thank you, Professor Wells, for validating the size of my lid.

Isn’t it strange how a little childhood teasing can stick with you…forever? I don’t even need to address the prominent widow’s peak that rests on top of my big forehead. I’ll merely add that Eddie Munster and I were VERY good friends growing up. Even our skin was the same shade of white that cosmetic companies refer to as “barely there.”

I think the secret to survival is a snug-fitting helmet. One with enough padding to protect the front office from a sneak attack on the psyche. I wish helmets were popular when I was a kid. I may have avoided the comb-over altogether (although I do like the way it looks).

Even though my brother and I have (thankfully) moved beyond the teasing, every now and then I do overhear him tell my son that he inherited his forehead from me. I can only hope that, for once, he’s right. But I don’t see how it’s possible, my brother has the smallest forehead in the world.