For as long as I can remember, my Dad has had a full beard. Each winter, he grows it out for his Santa Claus costume, where you can stick a finger through it and never touch his face. I honestly have never understood the attraction with beards, unless you are overweight and you can hide how fat your face is. That being said, this is not the first time that I’ve had a beard. Back in 2002, I went to Europe with my brother, Arik and my little sister, Heather. For five weeks, we had an itinerary that looked like this: Days one and two, Madrid. Final Day, Madrid. Besides that, we had no concrete plans of which cities/countries to visit, or how long we would stay.
At some point during this trip, I lost my razor. I decided that I wouldn’t buy another one, thus came a beard. Shortly after I returned to the United States, I started to date my wife. At the time, she told me that she liked my beard. It wasn’t until later that I found out that she liked it because it hid my double chin.
Unlike last month (Month Without Groceries), this month-long task was much more difficult than I had initially anticipated. The first couple of days were pretty easy and not unlike any other week. I have found that my neck is extremely sensitive and it can’t handle being shaved every day. I figured that I wouldn’t really have to do anything to get this post. For those of you ladies and hairless guys, growing a beard can be tedious. On my first go around, I would maintain the beard and shave my neck, but as Leigha said, “If you’re only doing it for a month, you might as well go all out.”
During week number two, I wanted to punch myself in the neck. It was itchy and irritating. I hated my beard and myself for growing it. The facial hair was less annoying, but I kept trying to pick something off of my face. It was as if there was a feather or a piece of dead skin that was always annoying me. I was the most self-aware of the beard during week two because it was at the in-between point where you couldn’t tell if I was a lazy slob that hadn’t shaved, or if the growth was intentional.
By week number three, I found that I had subconsciously started to pet my face. Similar to when your hair is messed up, and you keep trying to fix it without actually looking at it, I was trying to get the hair on my face to lay flat. This is difficult because it lies in at least three different directions.
When we were out at a restaurant, Tate pointed to another man and said, “Look, Dad, he has hair on his face, too.” At this point the kids had started playing with the beard; either playfully (sometimes harder than others) pulling on my facial hair, or playing “hairy face.” This is a game where I would rub my chin on their body and yell “Hairy [insert body part here]!” and they would squeal laughing. “Hairy elbow! Hairy neck!” “Hairy Bellybutton!”
Week number four was an odd one. I started to get compliments on my beard. Perhaps the facial hair was emitting pheromones. I guess if that were true, there would be a lot more people sporting unibrows.
The compliments were odd for me for two different reasons. First, I hadn’t maintained it in any manner for nearly a month.
Secondly, I kept getting the pull-away from Leigha, when I went to kiss her. “I can feel your pricklies.” A confirmation that I had nothing to hide from my wife.
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