I have a beard, not a costume, spirit-gum sticky fake beard, but a real, self-grown, full beard. When I reach for my chin I feel hair instead of skin. I still remember not having a beard. I find all this strange because I never would have pegged myself as a facial hair kind of dude.
It all began with a good dose of laziness, as beards often do, in college, as beards often do. I looked at myself in the co-ed dorm bathroom mirror, disposable shaver poised, the walls echoing with female tinkle sounds, and I wondered what would happen if I didn't shave.
You might think that the consequences would be rather obvious, but to me, it was all theoretical. Ever since the first pubescent bit of fuzz appeared on my cheeks, I had mown them down without a second thought. Now I had my second thought and wanted to experience what I had seen on Santa Claus, Satan, and married Amish dudes.
So the days rolled by and my shaver languished. Soon I had grown an impressive beard. It took some firm and loving words from my mom to make me see what I had done. Pictures of the time with my facial growth at full strength show some mountain-man-looking slob with a honky 'fro tucked under his chin. I learned that one does not simply grow a beard, one cultivates a beard.
Caring for a beard takes a whole lot less work that daily shaving, but you can't get away with doing nothing if you don't want to look like a counter-culture freak or some vintage IBM 360 systems programmer. You need to decide how your sideburns will drop, the jaw line you'll reveal, and how low down the neck you want to go.
Then there's the mustache bit. A mustache is a different beast. A mustache by itself makes a much more extreme statement than a beard. My brothers-in-law attended a Catholic high school where students where forbidden from growing a mustache until their senior year. Can you guess what sprouted from their upper lips when they were seniors? I wonder if the rule applied to the girls as well?
So men grow facial fur for a host of reasons. Some guys want to look older. Some folks grow a mustache because they have too much mustache wax and a desperate desire to look like a friggin' idiot in public. Some guys just look wrong without it, like, say, Tom Selleck. I grew mine out of curiosity, though I have to admit that it's now trying and failing to hide the pudge I've packed on from five years of sitting on my ever expanding ass in a cube.
I'm not very attached to my beard. It can sometimes be more trouble than not. I hate catching it in my bike helmet's chin strap. If I let my moustache bit go it turns into the proverbial soup strainer. Finally, small kids either love me or hate me. If their daddy has a beard, I look just like home. These kids are the minority. Usually they just scream and turn away in terror.
Speaking of which, my dad had a beard when I was tiny. One night while we were camping in our trailer, he decided on a whim to shave it off. I was asleep while he did the deed. When I woke, there was a strange beardless man in the camper. I just about crapped myself. What disturbed me the most was that my mom was so calm about the whole situation. Eventually the smooth-cheeked freak convinced me that he was my dad.
I myself got a wild hair up my butt one summer day and decided to shave it off. My college roommate's reaction was "Dude, you look weird" and I was carded everywhere. So I guess the beard stays until I loose a significant amount of flab and my hair greys some more.
Pakeha