​

Blog 472 – 11.21.2016

On Beards

As I learned from my Dad as a boy some stories get better with the telling and re-telling. I will let you be the judge of whether this is one of those stories or the other kind.

In 1966 the city of Chattanooga, my home town, celebrated the first one hundred and fiftieth anniverary since its founding. Some hair-brained and soon to be hairy faced guy came up with the idea of starting a Brothers of the Bush Club to help celebrate and all the men were encouraged to grow beards well at least those who could. I was only fifteen at the time and not even shaving yet. But my daddy put on a Brothers of the Bush button and put his razor away.

My mother hated it. Most of the women did. A lot of women do not like beards. I have often wondered if they are jealous because they cannot grow a beard. Some, especially dark haired girls, can grow a wispy light mustache that I find quite sexy, in a European hairy legs and underarms sore of way, but most of them do not. I wander. Sexy thoughts always have that effect on me and most men and women I might add.

But back to daddy’s beard, in no time it was full and healthy if streaked a bit with gray. Mom said he looked like an opossum. Why does possum start with an O? My mom and dad always had such tender expressions for one another. But in her defense she was in the middle of a heated campaign to get him to shave it off. Some times I wondered if she even knew the man. He was a determined man. Why, about that same time he made up his mind to quit an almost thirty year habit of smoking (maybe he did not want to catch his beard on fire.) At any rate, he quit cold turkey and never smoked again.

He kept his beard till the day of the parade and the beard judging inspite of all my mother’s protests and I was proud of his manly whiskers. One of his black work mates told him during the year of celebration and beard growing that he did not think a man was a real man without facial hair. I think that real men like real women come in all shapes and sizes with and without hair on their heads, faces, and other places. Stay on point, Dave.

I have tried more than once over the last fifty years to grow a beard usually shaving it off before it amounted to very much because they are quite itchy and scratchy at first and look pretty scraggly for some time. I did grow a fine one in my late twenties, another in my late thirties both of which were red. Later versions were darker and then more like that opossum-look my mama alluded to in her campaign to clean the brush off daddy’s face. My daddy loved my mama though he did seem to like tormenting her a bit. She returned the favor, trust me. But my dad remained clean shaven except for Sundays (he said he gave his face that day off) till he died in 1997. Daddy, my current beard and this blog is dedicated to you. I loved you with your beard and without. I  always will.

Your friend and fellow traveler,
David White