I Have a Big Head

I have a big head.

When I say I have a big head, it’s in the purely physical sense. It’s not my ego or self-worth where anyone would refer to me as having a big head in the figurative sense (as far as I know, anyway). But my head is large, and while I have always maintained that it’s proportionate to my body (I think), having a big head is different than, say, having a big nose, big feet, big ears or any other part of the anatomy (ahem).

I have a big head.

We touched on this a little in a recent episode, and while the anecdote is shared there-I’m not going to revisit it here, go listen-was one of the more obvious acknowledgements of the size and shape of my skull and its contents, it’s something I’ve dealt with as long as I can remember.

Big feet? Ok, people may put up with a joke or too, or sexual innuendo, about the size of someone’s feet (I think this is exclusive to men-I don’t think anyone jokes about the size of women’s feet, do they?) but other than having a problem possibly with buying shoes, it’s not really an issue. Big ears? Taken care of with the right haircut. A big nose? Sure, people have been mocked and teased about nose size forever, but at least there are things that can be done about that. But a big head? It’s not something you are necessarily made of fun for, but logistically? It can be an actual problem.

When I played Little League, there were usually three or four batting helmets in the equipment bag; this was way before modern Little League where fears of lice (Lice? How come we didn’t fear that? Seems we were much less fixated on hygiene then. Lice? I think this is maybe more a result of the current Little League Industrial Complex, but that’s another blog entirely.) When it was our turn to bat, teammates would scramble for the best helmets in the bunch.

There was always one, though, that was oversized, considerably bigger than the rest, big enough to hold a six pack of Shasta and a bag of ice; it was adult-sized, provided that adult was Herman Munster. It didn’t fit snugly, even on me, and that helmet was always cast aside, no one fought over it, no one wanted to wear it, no one made the first move for it as they were grabbing a bat. It was my helmet, and my helmet only.

Over the years, anyone who’s put one of my caps on their head, or sat behind me in a theater or somewhere else, or asked my hat size (7 5/8), usually makes a comment or two, and while I don’t think at this point in time it’s really bothered me, I do have to be careful leaning into tight spaces, opening the trunk of a car, or even venturing into a dark, overstuffed closet. I’ve banged my head more times than I care to admit, by moving too quickly or even misjudging the size of a space, even after all this time. We get older, our reflexes, our balance, our coordination, definitely erode over time, but somethings definitely don’t change.

I have a big head.