No Mirrors

Day 1

When I tell people I'm not looking in a mirror for a week, it's like I've walked into open-mic night at the Improv.

"You're lucky you don't have to see what we do," said my brother. "If I looked like you, I'd never want to look in a mirror," said a friend. "If only I didn't have to look at you for a week," said my wife.

Okay, Linda didn't say that last one, though maybe she was thinking it after all of my singing last week.

While my friends mock me, I've discovered a new friend: my hat. Since I can't see what my hair looks like, my hat is now my safety net.

At my age, I don't brush my hair as much as I strategically place it to cover the growing gaps. Without a mirror--or my hat--coverage would be worse than my health plan.

I'm allowing myself to use just two mirrors this week--the rearview and side-view mirrors in my car, though I'm not allowed to use them to look at myself.

Which, of course, I did as soon as I climbed into the car. It's amazing how often I'm tempted to look in the mirror while I'm driving. And why do I expect to hear "You're So Vain" on the radio any minute?

I had one other car-related problem: As I approached my car, I caught my reflection in the driver's side window as I unlocked the door. To avoid this, I'll have to sneak up on my car and, at the last instant, pop up like a Whack-A-Mole.

Or, I guess I could close my eyes as I walk toward the car, but crossing the street with my eyes closed could result in cars playing Whack-A-Roach. Especially if the drivers are busy looking at themselves in their rearview mirror while they drive.

Day 2

This is the perfect week for people to mess with me and say things about my appearance that I can't confirm. As Linda did last night, observing, "You're getting a lot grayer around your temples--did you notice?"

Certain she was toying with the man who can't see himself--she was kidding, right??--I had no need to check a mirror. None whatsoever.

Or to walk past a reflective surface and accidentally see myself. Or to get down on my hands and knees on the kitchen floor to unintentionally see my reflection in our aluminum trash can. Nope, no worries.

Years ago, my family visited Hawaii and, after one week in Maui, we traveled to Lanai. On the trip from the airport to our resort, we were amazed by the tropical beauty all around us and couldn't stop pointing out one object or another.

My dad, however, had gotten sunscreen in his eyes that morning and couldn't see a thing. He thought we were just trying to provoke him. Of course, we weren't--that was just an added bonus.

Daniel, who knows not to do such things to his wonderful dad for fear of a life without Legos, doesn't really understand this week's challenge.

Seven-year-old boys aren't a self-conscious group, as you may have noticed if you've seen one wipe his nose with his sleeve, or lick a coffee table spot that looks like chocolate.

Boys could go until they're 13 before they'd need a mirror--and then they'll look at nothing else. Well, they'll look at a mirror and the other thing they discover at 13. Cars.

I don't think Daniel has looked in a mirror in weeks. For example, he has worn a temporary tattoo on his left cheek since Saturday. He doesn't even know it's there anymore, until we try to wash it off.

And bed-head appears to be a status symbol for 7-year-old boys; he'd go to school cluelessly sporting a Flock of Seagulls hairstyle every day. I'm tempted sometimes to let him.

Is it bad parenting to want to draw a smiley face on his cheek while he's sleeping and see how long it takes him to notice? It would be in the name of science, after all.

Wait, what if I just gave Linda an idea for me. Or has she already done it?

Days 3 & 4

I knew at some point this week I'd have to shave, considering I don't need a mirror to know that if I don't, I look like Jeff Foxworthy. Still, the idea of using a sharp blade against my neck with my eyes closed strikes me as crazier than a senior center toga party.

However, I had nothing to worry about, at least nothing I could see. If I cut myself or missed whole sections of my face, no one said anything. Maybe they just laughed behind my back.

Which got me thinking: There are significant parts of your body you can't see without a mirror. If you're a guy, you can't see your hair without a mirror unless you were in Whitesnake.

You can't see your neck, most of your back, or your shoulder blades--and therefore the beauty behind "Kick Me!" signs.

You can't see your whole head, except for the smallest parts of your nose, tongue, lips, and cheeks. I know because I tested this theory by sticking out my tongue and lips, scrunching my cheeks, and rolling my eyes like a crazy chameleon.

I should have worked out my theory elsewhere judging from the looks of my fellow passengers on the train.

One thing you can see is your feet, and I stared at mine like a grunge-band lead singer Thursday. I had just entered a hotel with enough mirrors to satisfy Trump's ego.

Mirrors engulfed the downstairs lobby, encased the elevator, lined the 11th-floor lobby, surrounded me in the hotel room, and even covered a whole wall in the bathroom. Hotels are an egomaniac's funhouse.

I'd traveled two hours to visit my brother Paul, who was in a city hotel on business. When he wasn't looking, I was tempted to hit the mini-bar for a puny bag of 11 potato chips that costs $4.25, but the thing was guarded by attack mirrors.

We walked the city, hitting a few tourist sites, and Paul particularly enjoyed pointing out every reflective surface imaginable.

Shop windows, restaurant mirrors, even a handheld mirror he picked up and tried to hold up to my face. It was a whole new way not to see a city.

I crashed in his room and when I left Friday morning I somehow had Don King's hair by mistake.

If I didn't know better, I'd say Paul rubbed my head with a sweater sometime in the night. I probably have a "Kick Me!" sign on my back, too.

Wait until the people on the train see me now.

Day 5

I asked Linda how I looked and she laughed at me. That can't be good.

I shaved for the second time this week without a mirror and I wondered if I missed any spots. I also asked if my hair looked alright. She was still giggling.

"Something not right?" I asked.

"I'm just laughing because you're making me laugh. I forgot how weird you are about your hair," she said.

It's sad, but true for a graying, hair-losing father of 2 who should have bigger worries. (Like making sure my food doesn't touch, but that's for another week.)

I have a problem with people touching my head.

I didn't realize how odd it was until I saw the same behavior in my son. He freaks out when I pat him on his head or try to comb his hair. How bizarre, I said to Linda.

How so much like you, she replied. Heredity makes your own quirks stand out like an F on a report card.

Linda stopped laughing, but started up again as she fixed my hair. She tried to smooth it down and I squirmed like she was stabbing me. It was harder to take than the time I ate broccoli for Daniel's sake.

Finally, my hair was fixed and I walked away relieved. Then Linda snuck up behind me, messed it all up again, and ran away laughing.

I don't know which is worse--that she touched my hair and messed it up, or that she's going to have to touch it again to fix it.

I need new quirks.

Days 6 & 7

For the most part, I've been able to avoid mirrors--they're not exactly chasing me around the house, after all. But I've caught glimpses of myself in so many common items all week.

A car window, our glass front door, the windows at night when it's dark outside, store windows, even glass picture frames. I'm doing my best to avoid my reflection, but clearly I'd make a lousy vampire.

In grade school, I didn't like to look in the mirror in the morning because my face grew acne forests overnight.

One considerate friend thought a small tree on my face looked like a sprout shooting from a mountainside and nicknamed me Cliff Branch, an NFL star at the time. My acne went away before the nickname did.

I spent Sunday at a football game where it was easy to avoid my reflection. I saw some questionable clothing choices, so I guess some people have no problem not using a mirror.

I watched the game with an old high school friend, who noted that my hair was getting much grayer these days. I wanted to check a mirror to see what he was talking about. I'm sure it was just the lighting.

I finally got to look at myself again Monday morning and was happy to see I looked the same as I did a week ago.

I'm more aware of my own vanity now, though, so I didn't linger at the mirror long--just enough to check what my friend was talking about. Yeah, the lighting, it must have been the lighting....