A Bit About Beards

Facial hair. That’s the mark of a real man. If you saw a third grader with a mustache you wouldn’t think twice about offering him a beer. It’s like a badge of honor, the beard. My man doesn’t have to sport one all the time, but he does have to be able to actually grow one.

I love a good beard. Rugged handsomeness really does it for me. I’ll admit to being a little picky, I’m like goldilocks when it comes to whiskers: not overgrown, not patchy, juuust right.

The men in my life have reached varying degrees of beardom. My brother proudly grows his curly red fern to the mid chest, taking pride with fancy waxes and conditioners. My husband looks best in 2-day scruff, but I find his vacation beard endearing as well. The beard of legend belongs to my father.

He cleanly trimmed his thick deep brown beard no longer than a crew cut about to deport. He’s had it all my life and before with one exception. The kissing bet.

I’m sure every lady would agree there is nothing worse than going cheek to cheek with a five o’clock shadow. My father’s impeccable trimming was no match for my baby-soft child cheek. After lobbing my case, upset by a goodnight kisses ritual, I proposed 100 kisses if he shaved off his beard.

Any child whose father had a mustache that suddenly disappeared in the 90s never to return again knows the horror of this transformation.

When he finally revealed himself I stood there shocked. For the first time, I saw with my own eyes, my father’s face: bare, beardless.

I burst into tears. “Put it back on!” I cried.

And so it began, my end of the bargain. 100 kisses. I posted myself at his side and started planting wet ones on his cheek. I counted through the tears.

He was a stranger, I was kissing a stranger!

Whoever this guy was, I did not trust him. This is not to say that any guy who takes a razor to his face every day shouldn’t be trusted. Perhaps it’s the ritual he enjoys, a metaphor for shedding the day before.

Not my father. Since beard-gate 1991, I’ve watched his beard grow progressively grey. Now that’s commitment. Maybe that’s what’s attractive about a man’s facial hair, the commitment.

As for my dad and silvery staple, it’s distinguishing look for the man, the beard, the legend.