I Was "Busy"

So I fell behind on some blog posts. We've been over this -- I have no schedule. I also haven't had much ambition since school let out, which means you don't get anything new, but another essay post that was originally written in my senior year of high school. It's about beards. I like beards. I want a beard. I only have scruff. I am disappoint.

Please, enjoy.




A YOUNG ADULT'S DESIRE


I distinctly remember being in the fourth grade when we were forced to watch those terrible sexual education videos while bits of nervous laughter and confused looks scattered themselves in the audience. Back then I almost dreaded the days when that would happen to my friends and even me.

Several years later, we watched those same videos, but the process had already begun, and I had my worries, as did my friends, about how I would turn out. Specifically, I was concerned about my height, looks, voice, and facial hair. As I approach the end of this stage of my life, I look back and see that each of those is starting to reach a satisfying end, with the exception of facial hair. My blatant lack of that which is “beard” is becoming the greatest disappointment in all my puberty.

In Phillip Lopate’s essay “On Shaving a Beard,” he mentioned a “tribe of bearded men [with] patriarchal firmness . . .” (369). In my early high school years, I had yearned to be involved, and even more so to be a leader. As Lopate suggested, beards bring with them a certain impression of wisdom, or even power. He continued by saying, “[Those with beards] strike me as good providers. They resemble trees (their beards are nests) or tree cutters. In any case, mentally I place them in the forest, with flannel shirt and axe” (369). This connection that has been made to lumberjacks makes owning a beard even more alluring, as lumberjacks are known to be brave and strong as the trees they cut.

Later in Lopate’s essay, he reflects on when he first decided to grow his beard and compares it to joining a “fraternity,” claiming “to collect the equivalent of approving winks from other beardies, fellow conspirators in the League of Hirsutes” (369). Comedian Dane Cook once said that every man wants to be a part of a heist. I believe the truth in that statement exists because of the empowering sense of being up to something. If growing a beard constitutes being a “conspirator,” count me in.

I’ve known people who have had beards, as well as other forms of facial hair. In restaurants I have seen men with long white mustaches that reach beyond their faces. I’ve had friends, both older and younger than I, who have nurtured their own beards, be it a shaggy goatee or a thick, full-on beard, to near perfection. After reading Phillip Lopate’s essay I was inspired to search for fancy beards on the Internet, and was pleasantly surprised with my findings. Though such actions peak my jealousy, I have been compelled to go up to every man with a nice-looking beard and shake his hand. Or if this is not possible, I will at least give him an excited thumbs-up.

I know I am not yet finished with my journey toward total manhood, but my relatively hairless face is not showing enough promise of future growth to fill my beardly desires. My only hope at this point is to shave more than is necessary, and rub my cheeks for ten minutes each day so as to increase the blood flow to the area. My desperation for facial hair is endless, as is my love for majestic beards.

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Okay, that was a bit of a let down. I promise to have a real update before the end of the month.

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