Also, my parents are visiting; my dad, influenced by the months he and Mom spend each year in Alaska, has grown a beard. I'd never seen him in one before; he grows a good one, but it's still an adjustment. But Dad's presence and unabashed delight in his thick, wise-looking beard has pushed me past the four-day wall.
Why? Several reasons:
- Growing facial hair is still novel to me at the age of forty-two
- Because I can
- It will set me apart: it's not a goatee
- I still like to emulate my Dad
- It's handy to stroke pensively, which could be a boon to my fledgling writing career
- Independence - my wife doesn't like the idea
Why not? Several reasons:
- Not all men look good in beards; naff appearance is a risk
- They itch
- A beard is more practical in the Pacific Northwest than it is in Australia
- There's an awkward 'tween stage, what I think of as the Carol Brady stage for people trying to grow their hair long
- It will probably make me look older, which doesn't have the appeal it did when I last grew one, at twenty-two
- Ridicule - my wife doesn't like the idea
It's coming out with a much greater proportion of grey than I have in the rest of my hair; the five-day spikes are all copper and silver. My hair is either brown or auburn, depending on season and whether I'm in the sun. I've got a few grey hairs, but not a lot yet.
I'm fearful, but curious, that I'll end up with some sort of two-tone deal: Karl Marx or Michael McDonald, without the blowdried look.
Even blogging about it sounds like a commitment. But, either way, I'm guaranteed a new blog topic for at least one more post: there's either a progress report, or a Ship Abandoned message.
Also, there's a Great Beards in History discussion waiting to happen. For example: Greatest goatee in history? I'd have to vote for V.I. Lenin, although Colonel Sanders would be up there too.
