To Be(ard) or Not to Be(ard)

That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler ... well, you know the rest, I’m sure.

As this viral stay-at-home business continues, I am beginning to look more and more like some 19th-century poet (Whitman? Longfellow?) and less and less like that remarkably handsome man you all know.

Just before the stay-at-home stuff began, I was planning to get a haircut. Didn’t. And now it’s been, oh, a couple of months since my last one.

And it shows.

My hair is flowing around my collar now—and my beard? Well, you can see the pic at the top of this post, a selfie I took yesterday. (When I showed it to Joyce, she laughed harder than she has during this entire lockdown!)

Time for some backstory.

I did not grow a beard until the summer of 1984 (I would turn 40 in November). Our son, who had just completed sixth grade, asked me—quite casually—what I would look like in a beard. (I have no idea where that question came from.)

I said I didn’t know—and promptly began to grow one. Which has stayed on my face since then—close to thirty-six years now!

(I just remembered: I’d tried one earlier—didn’t like it—shaved it quickly. It was back in the late 60s/early 70s when I was wearing my hair very long. I already had sideburns and a mustache, both on display when I got married in December 1969. See pic below. )

And I discovered that I loved the beard—for two principal reasons: (1) it covers much of my face (a boon to those who see me); (2) I have to shave my neck and upper cheeks only about twice/week (I hate shaving).

I have a great barber (Mickey) here in Hudson who does a fine job with my beard (and with the rest of my white hair). Not all barbers have been so successful. When I retired from public-school teaching in January 1997–and saw the resultant drop in income—I tried Best Cuts a couple of times, and the first time, the clipper asked me how to trim a beard! (She’d never done one.) I decided not to be her first case, went home, bought a razor, and did it myself for a while. (Let’s not discuss how well I did.)

So ... no real beard problems until now.

Joyce has quietly/tactfully/lovingly implied that, you know, she could give it a whirl—a trimming. But I’m more inclined right now to employ a more direct and even brutal approach.

Cutting it all off. Letting it grow back during the ensuing lockdown weeks.

I think I’m probably gonna go for it.

PS—Any shrieks you hear are from folks here in Hudson who have the misfortune of seeing all of my face.