February 1976. Minneapolis, Minnesota.
I have the thickest hair you can imagine. It isn’t technically a Jew-fro, but by brushing and blow-drying it with my head held downward, I can make it look something like a cross between Sly Stone and my Grandma Rose.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Peter Himmelman’s Morning Musings to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.