When I first came to the Naval Academy, I looked like a thumb. A full-fledged, tall and anxious thumb. My hair had been butchered so much that it clung to my face an inch above the chin, like someone had taken a pair of scissors and recklessly trimmed it with a blind-fold on. Needless to say, I hated it.
As odd as it is, hair has a weird place in Naval Academy culture. It becomes easy to pick out the plebe girls from the choppy mop peeking out beneath their covers, thrown haphazardly into their faces as soon as the wind begins to blow. For Plebe boys, the ritual of the shaving of heads over the summer (which generated a sense of resentment that rivals a cat receiving a bath), was a constant reminder that any progress they had made in growing their hair would eventually be lost to the unyielding blade.
These days, I can grab (nearly) all my hair in a neat ponytail. There are clumps here and there that fail to cooperate, but we’ll ignore them. Every day I have spent at the Academy gives me another fraction of a centimeter, moving forward like a lazy train. But most importantly, it keeps on growing. I remember when I was first able to put my hair up in a bun without a fleet of bobby pins. It was one step towards blending in with the upperclassmen.
For some people, losing their hair on Induction Day or just a few days before is a constant, and occasionally frustrating, reminder of their commitment to the Academy. In order for everyone to learn to collaborate throughout Plebe Summer, everyone has to look the same. If we were to look differently, that would create a small, but somehow distinguishable variance between us. But as the hair starts to grow again, it feels like you have regained some sense of unappreciated free will. Hair is one of the subtle ways you can be different from your peers and retain some part of the person you used to be.
In coming to the Academy, there are parts of myself that I left behind. In order to be more efficient, dedicated, strong and disciplined, there are some mental commitments I have found you need to let go of. That is not to say that changing needs to eliminate the person you used to be. There is not a day that regret changing because being here makes me the person I wanted to be, not one I was previously destined to become. There are people here who push me harder and catch me when I fall. In giving up who I used to be, I’ve had the chance to become something new, forged from every word and face I’ve seen since that fateful June Day. Every day brings another opportunity to grow, even if it shows in something as small a single strain of hair.
"The views expressed, [in this article] reflect personal opinions of the authors and do not reflect the official policy or position of the United States Naval Academy, the United States Navy, any federal agency, the Department of Defense, or the U.S. Government.”
