Stranger in the Mirror

This past Sunday I was talking with my friend Richard Sutton, President of the Houston Temple, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. He mentioned that a new policy was being implemented for temple workers; that they be clean shaven, no mustaches or beards. I know several friends who work in the temple who’ve had mustaches and/or beards most of their adult lives. I wondered how the new policy was being accepted.

“You’d be surprised”, he said, smiling at the positive results as he went on to mention by name the folks I had been considering. One fellow asked for a razor so he could step into the men’s dressing area right away. Only a couple resisted the request, mulling it over as if it were some serious encroachment in their personal affairs.

I mentioned that I’d had my mustache since high school, even during my brief encounter as a member of the Army Reserves. I then remembered when I had to shave it off upon attending the Houston Police Academy. I guess it was a couple of years before the Department changed its policy on facial hair and the mustache returned to my face.

I sent him a couple of pictures that I’d taken the night before starting my career with the Department. I also sent him an article I’d written about the last roll call inspection, the one prior to my retirement from the department. (linked via title bar)

It got me to thinking, “How important are my mustache and beard to me?” A few years back I shaved off my beard. I’d had it for five or six years; having started it the day I retired as a token, if you will, a statement of my independence. It took three days for anyone to notice my naked chin and it occurred to me that it must not be such a big deal. My daughter challenged me to shave off the mustache but that wasn’t on my list of possibilities at the time.

This morning I decided that it was time to uncover the person hiding behind all those whiskers. I took the trimmer and prepared by taking it down low followed by a fresh blade in my razor. The stranger in the mirror looked vaguely familiar, save for the jowls below his chin that had previously gone undetected; age has crept up on my youth.

The odd creature with all those interesting thoughts continues to reside within, “still crazy after all these years”, as Paul Simon would say. I know what my kids are thinking; no, the idea of a tattoo or piercing my ear, tongue or any other part of my anatomy is out of the question.