“Dear Father,
Today, I wore a hat on the way to the arena. It was a trendy piece of headwear in the “beanie” style – many young men in America wear such hats. Ostensibly, the hat was worn in order to showcase my fashion sense. I even paired it with some other clothes that were mismatched, yet stylish in an urban sense. But you and I both know the true reason I wore that hat, father.
You always say in your letters to be a proud man. I am sorry, father, but there is no way for me to be proud of the hair that is on my head. It is a shameful collection of receding follicles that adorns the top of my head. That is the reason I wore the hat. As an attempt to cover up my shame.
My teammates noticed very quickly my change in style. I had never before worn a hat in their presence, and while I was hoping that I would be able to wear it undetected, I knew that it wouldn’t be likely, as we are all very friendly with each other and tease each other about our fashion choices often.
“Nice hat,” said Tyreke. “Digging the beanie,” said Aaron. “Bojan’s got a hat on!” said Cory. All innocuous comments. But then, the devastating blow to my ego was delivered. “We know you’re going bald, man, no need to hide it from us!” Those incisive words came from the mouth of the man who I had considered to my good friend, Domantas Sabonis. It is easy for him to make jokes about my plight when his hair is full of vitality and life, easily capable of being styled into any manner of hairdos that make him attractive to women. I smiled and laughed at his comment while he playfully attempted to remove the hat from my head, but inside me, I could feel my soul withering. Many of my teammates were laughing also.
They laughed at me, father. My fully-haired teammates, with whom I shed blood and sweat on the field of battle, took my deepest insecurity and used it against me. Now, lying in my bed, I vehemently wish that their families were the ones who had been cursed by gypsies to suffer generations of early-onset baldness instead of our own. It is uncharitable of me, yes, but I cannot help my feelings, father.
I have half a mind to return to Croatia right at this very moment, to flee to the welcoming arms of my lovely Lucija and escape the constant scrutiny of being a sportsman in America. But I know that even Lucija would not be able to ignore my dramatic hair loss. Inside, I am the same beautiful man she fell in love with all those years ago, but on the outside, I am a shell of a man with pathetically receding hair.
I will keep wearing the hats. Eventually, my teammates will become used to it and cease their mockery of me. That is the hope, anyway. They are good men at heart, but they do not understand my daily struggle with this terrible affliction.
Your dearest son,
-Bojan”