Oh beard, where art thou?

At fifteen, little black strings penetrated my baby face to declare that I was a member of the male subset of the human race. I felt special. I was growing up. I was no longer a child needing to be told what to do.

Some called it peach fuzz. Others asked if the cat licked my face. It didn't matter.

I was a man.

There was the goatee experiment. My facial hair was like a pair of women shoes. I could do different styles with different outfits. Three days after a shave and the follicles would re-emerge from their hiding place to take their rightful place on my face.

My first job out of school did not permit beards. I was allowed to have a moustache but I felt sleezy with one. Too many bad 70's memories reinforced a decision that I didn't want to be associated with THAT crowd.

So I went bare face as the wishes of a job. During my time at the anti-beardite company, I met a wonderful woman who became my wife.

She didn't like facial hair because it irritated her face when I kissed her. I liked kissing her, so I had no problem with compromising with a daily shave.

20 years have passed. I still like kissing my wife, but I wanted one last beard. One last beard to end all beards on my face. It's winter. There are no worries about tan lines. They are no concerns about it being too hot. I am still a man. So I let it grow.

Some of the black hairs have retired and moved to warmer climates. The new owners of my face don't take care of their property. They lack personality. They are bland in their colourless environment. They co-exist with their black brothers. But they're taking over. Each day, more of their white friends are moving into the neighbourhood.

Worst is they're moving to other parts as well. Soon they will control the whole territory. I could paint the neighbourhood. But that would be fake. I am a man so I take it like one. I'm an older man.

Better to have hair still growing than not have any at all.

For one last hoorah, my beard continues to grow. It is the longest it has ever been.  I feel like a different man when I look at myself in the mirror. I don't like it more or less. It's just different.

And different is what I needed right now to get my butt in gear for this year.

It's working. Now to figure out the kissing thing...