I'm Not Jealous

My son just turned seven. He’s a good kid. But I do have a complaint. His hair. And I’m not saying that because my hairline looks like the letter “M” (high on the sides, low in the valley). His hair defies anything that could keep it in place. Gel, hairspray, JB Weld—none of it works. There is some kind of magnetic force in his hair that makes it point due north. It comes in handy when we’re camping but makes it miserable when he’s around his grandfather’s pacemaker. That’s really why we think our sons are little Einsteins. They have the hair.