Behold my skull!

It was in grade ten, when I was fifteen, that I discovered I had a weird skull. I think I always suspected, but the actual moment of confirmation came when our school’s loveliest teacher placed her lovely hands upon my head and then cried out “Oh my GOD!” Here’s the story of my prehistoric skull and why, when I go bald, it’s hair-plug city, baby.

Ms. Craven was telling us about a trip she’d previously taken to the Royal Ontario Museum with another of her classes. Among many topics, the guide spoke about the development of man: how the human body—the skeleton in particular—had evolved over the years. It’s common knowledge, the guide said, that wisdom teeth have become more or less obsolete because the modern human doesn’t need the rending and tearing force that primitive man once required. Further to this, however, primitive man had a bony ridge running down the middle of his skull—called a sagittal crest—which anchored his extremely strong jaw muscles that assisted in crushing food. And as we all don’t eat nearly as many rocks, bones, shoes, or radial belts as our ancestors may have, the sagittal crest and huge jaw muscles have gone the way of the dinosaur—for the most part. The guide said that some people (he didn’t use the words “with unevolved skulls” but that’s the implication I took home) still have this crest. Then everyone listening to him speak felt up their skulls, and a select few found a hint of this crest. So of course in hearing this story, everyone in my class began skull-groping, and the same thing occurred. People said, “Oh, I have one,” and Ms. Craven would go give them a feel and be moderately or not at all impressed with what she found. Then I put up my hand. And she touched my head. And screamed, “Oh my GOD!” Then she commanded, “You all have to feel this!” And the molestation of Dave’s skull began.

Turns out I’m the missing link. A good day for science; a bad day for Dave.

Fig. 1 - Your skull

Fig 2. - Dave's skull

As if the poorly evolved qualities of my skull weren’t enough, I also get cysts up there too. Current count: two. The first showed up when I was about sixteen. (Caused by the groping hands of strangers? I won’t say no.) It started small and grew imperceptibly until late University where it felt like I’d grown a knuckle under my scalp. At this point, I had it removed (but unfortunately wasn’t allowed to keep it, because the doctor submitted it to the Museum of Freaky Shit Pulled Out of People’s Heads). Before sending me home one of the nurses had to bandage me up, but this proved difficult as the wound was near the centre of my skull. So she basically wrapped a roll of gauze around my jaw and over the top of my head. Pretty. On the way home, the roommate who’d driven me there wanted to stop into the campus bar. It was two in the afternoon, and he convinced me that no one would be there, so I borrowed his hat and followed along. Of course, everyone was there, a veritable ‘This is Your Life’ cast of characters in attendance. And do you know what people overwhelmingly assumed was wrong with me? That I had a toothache. Because maybe my doctor came from 1942. Or we were all in an episode of The Flintstones.

Cyst one has grown back a tiny bit, but remains pea-sized at present. Cyst two showed up a few years ago and is starting to rival cyst one’s legacy for size and skull-protrusion. But right now I’m curious to see if it’ll turn into either a tusk, a small plant, or my evil twin Evad if I leave it long enough.

So right now, I’m living a normal life. My hair is poufy and curly enough that my disfigurement isn’t apparent to the naked eye. It’s the future of my skull that we all have to be fearful of.

In summary, one day I might look like this. But for now, I still look like this.