Fun with Facial Hair

Mover Mike asked “What is it with you two and facial hair?” after I posted a picture of my brother and me sitting on a bench in front of my house. I’ll do my best to answer that. For some reason God gave us facial hair in the form of beards and mustaches and depending on many outside influences, we get to have fun with this element of character. Some jobs don’t lend the opportunity of expression and the desire to grow extra hair on your face isn’t really an option.

I can remember joining the Houston Police Department and being reminded that my mustache would have to be shaved off, the rules were cut and dry, no facial hair. I had fun taking pictures the night before going into the academy and that was the end of my mustache for several years until the Department altered its stance on such manifestations of individuality.

Each year I’d let my beard grow out while on vacation; only to shave it off prior to returning to work. I never liked the feel of whiskers under the chin line and made it a point to groom and shape the short lived extra growth, a crisp and distinct line created with great care as the razor fashioned the magnificent alter ego.

The day I retired from the Department I began to grow a real beard, one that would remind me of my departure from the semi-military organization, my being free to express follicle fancy forever and a day. I grew a full beard in the winter and then, just as baseball spring training came, I’d pear that down to a more conventional goatee in the event the Astros needed a worn out old ball player; it could happen.

One day I got to wondering if my personality was tied too strongly to my facial hair, would I still be me if I had to shave it off as when I was a police officer. I quietly took out the razor and removed the beard after supper one evening. I then sat on the sofa and watched television with the family; nobody noticed and it seemed funny to me as a second and then a third day went by. “Dad, did you get a hair cut, you look different somehow?”, my son asked. The answer to my question; beards had almost no effect on how I looked, a simple and important lesson. I was me regardless of how much hair I had on my face.

About a year ago I was talking with my friend Richard Sutton and found that those working at the temple had been asked to remove all mustaches and beards as same standards which are applied to young missionaries were to be established for temple workers. At the time I wasn’t a temple worker; all the same it caused me to wonder how much my appearance meant to me, my vanity; was I dependent on something as insignificant as my mustache and beard? I shaved them both off and was looking at the stranger in the mirror for several days; not so much the loss of the beard but for the mustache which I’d had for over twenty, going on thirty years.

My friend asked if I’d accept a call as an ordinance worker; did I mention that my friend Richard Sutton was the president of the Houston Temple? I haven’t thought about shaving much; that is until the other day at the hospital. It had been a long two weeks and I was feeling down, not being able to take a shower and having to accept a sink bath as a substitute. I looked in the mirror and saw the build up of whiskers, less than attractive and without form or purpose.

I convinced one of the nursing staff that I would greatly appreciate the use of a disposable razor and that I would be careful not to exert myself while trimming. I took my time washing my hair and softening the whiskers; even so it took several passes under the chin to remove the layers. It’s amazing how much a shave can make you feel. My hair was slicked back and my whole attitude changed; almost like I was getting better and ready to leave.

Upon returning home to mend the rest of the way, the first thing I did was shave off the rest of the beard and mustache, get ready to be me all over again. I looked in the mirror and wondered, is that me or is that somebody who is still in limbo?

I wanted to go to the temple this afternoon, not as a worker; as a patron. There’s a need to return to my Father’s house, to express my gratitude in the form of service. I fell asleep and missed that opportunity, at least my body wasn’t up to that much, not yet anyway. I think it would have been okay if I’d shown up with a beard; not that it makes a whole lot of difference; all the same I felt better knowing I was clean shaven.