Meet my red-bearded friend
I have a friend who has a red beard.
The reason you should know him is because he lacks all vanity. Yes, the beard is well-trimmed and is so luscious it’s like another head of hair altogether, but the beard is so unnecessary to him. The beard clings to him because he’s his own man.
His parents raised him right, with values, like the same kind of creed Wolverine has–he can kill you, but he won’t because he’d rather be just and sleep well at night.
My red-bearded friend detests pretentious phonies but in his older age has come to empathize with them, even to be fascinated by their homelessness of spirit. They are people who have lost their way, and people like my red-bearded friend are like red obelisks in the snow. You trudge through the darkness trying to figure out your direction only to come to it and hear it tell you, “stand firm bro, be yourself no matter what.” Then he proceeds to act as he says you should.
