Week Eighteen: December 21st

(Bearder's Note: This being our last week of school until after the new year, there will now be a two-week interval before my next entry.)

Thus...

"The Bottom Line."

This beard, also known as "The Foundation," is to serve as the building-block from which a full-beard (or at least as full as the next two weeks will allow me) shall spring. Plus, what is a good beard if not doubly-named in the manner of many magazines' year-end double issues (a phenomenon I always viewed as the desperate make-up ploy after some editor's miscount. "Doug, we'd better make this next issue a double! The folks are bound to notice we promised them 53 issues this year, and I just realized there are only 52 weeks this year. How did that slip by me...?)

Even now, as I write in the wake of the intervening week, I have additional growth that probably surpasses The Burgeoning Beard. A solid start if I do say so myself.

Our final week of school, a disastrously-scheduled three day week culminating in a full day on the 23rd, saw most people in our building barely survive with patience intact. Some, suspiciously, did not "survive" at all (missing the last one or two days.) Being at the mercy of the high schools' final exam schedule, and the fact that they take the approach of the Chinese voters for NBA All-Stars--packing the box with representatives when the middle schools and elementaries stay home--we all get stuck with a series of full days despite the fact that the high schools, and their teachers, spend no more than a half day each day. I probably owe my full class roster on the final day solely to my sheer force of intimidation and scary, beardly nature. This is especially impressive considering that our annual (class) "Winter Parties" occurred on Tuesday. Either my out-sized scariness was to blame, or lots of folks were in my position and had enormous amounts of shopping to complete as of the 23rd, and it was far easier to do with no children in tow.

Now that Friday's tribute to capitalistic spending sprees has passed, and the floor to our daughters' room has not seen the light from its one open window shade in days, we are ready to move on. No longer shall I feel as though Target will begin charging us rent for loitering so long within their confines.

At the very least, the Bottom Line will keep my chin and jaw warm in these now snowy conditions. To that end, it has already been a success: I returned from a run on Christmas Day with a spit icicle dangling from my lower left jawbone, clinging firmly to the patch of hair now growing there.

Ah, tis the season.

Week Seventeen: December 14th

Sadly, I did not keep my hair like this all week. You had to know "The King" would pay a visit at some point during this homage to all things hairy. Far be it from me to play it straight in my tribute. My Blue Christmas looks more like the Can-Do-Without-This Christmas look. So much for my ability to morph into various characters each day. The lady-grabbing lip curl of the man himself translates into a semi-disgusted look on my face. Oh well. I was always far more convincing looking like a skeptic, especially when it comes to being skeptical of myself.

The other nice thing about this look was that I could finally trim the 'burns held over from the Van Buren. Good Lord, those babies were driving me nuts! So thick were they that every time I smiled (which is approximately once every few seconds) the longer hairs would poke into my ears. I have enough worry about old-man ear-hairs without several thousand reminders of my advancing age, and impending appearance of hair everywhere, each day.

Maybe I'll just start frying some bananas and peanut butter for lunch and taking the girls with me on my voyage to hardened arteries.

Week Sixteen: December 7th

Taking it to the Top Shelf. That's what this week's entry was all about. Strange, again, to reveal my chin, as so many people, including my own two daughters, never see it. The sweet 'stache kept me laughing throughout the week. It wasn't long enough to irritate my nose (all the reason not to grow one of those Walrus-specials) and it was short enough to forget about it altogether. Only in restrooms or car mirrors would I catch a glimpse of the lip-worm and shake my head at its ludicrous appearance.

Strangely, several of my students noticed this look, commenting particularly on the mustache. The first one to mention anything was my student just returning from a month overseas. These were the second words out of his mouth: "Ooh, nice. You are growing a mustache and beard, Mr. Chisholm?"

Later, as he pointed it out again, one of his classmates kindly pointed out the fact that HE too was growing a mustache. The boy turned to the other and said, "Yeah, I just got back from vacation, I hadn't thought about shaving while I was away." Sadly, he was serious. What are they feeding these fourth graders?

Week Fifteen: November 30th

Strangely itchy, yet strangely satisfying. That is how I could describe these chops cut from the cloth of Martin Van Buren.

Why one would offer up two hair-kickstands formed in the mold of our lesser-known 8th President is a curious tale. For more on him, including the photo I was wary to post here, search Martin Van Buren and visit the White House archives website--you will not be disappointed. Suffice it to say, I am jealous. Someday....



During the summer, as I was tinkering with beards, I stumbled upon a sweet set of choppers similar to these. One of my fellow employees inquired about my aspirations to become Van Buren, albeit, not in so many words. Knowing little of the man, and even less of his facial hair, I conducted several searches and learned a great deal, concluding my search with the image of his amazing chops forever seared in my memory.

So, of course, how better to honor his 'burns than to bridge the gap between present and past: creating a strange connection between a comic-book mutant (last week) and a leader from 170 years ago? Wouldn't Marty VB be proud?

Equally proud were some former students of mine, visiting our school this week. Every year, in early December, an elite squadron of 8th graders, playing in the orchestra, band or singing in the choir at the middle school, visit all the area elementaries and perform. The aim is two-fold: entertainment and information. While the remainder of the school is entertained by these "big people," the 5th grade sees an advertisement of sorts, as they offer these options to them for next year (when, they too, reach the big time.)

This was how I came to be surrounded by former students at the end of the assembly, regaling them with wisecracks and sarcasm (perhaps the only two things I do well.) In the midst of our recollections, one student cut in, "So, Mr. Chisholm, would you define those as Muttonchops?" Not one for straight answers, I turned to him and replied, "No, Tom, I believe these are actually sheep." At that moment, as in fourth grade, four years before, they were not quite sure what to make of the statement, or me.

One girl, tried to interject, in hopes of saving the day, "Well, Mr. Chisholm, those aren't exactly in style anymore." Oh, Susan, if there is one thing I would hope you learned from me all those years ago, it is that I am not in the least bit concerned with style. Anyone willing to sport these for a week, can also support that claim.

Week Fourteen: November 23rd

This beard was inevitable. When this journey began, over three months ago, this was the only beard I knew I would do eventually. Those of you who know me also know I am not really a planner, and to date, this wandering tale of the beard has borne that out. I never really know what I am doing until I am looking in the mirror after Saturday's shower, razor in hand. Usually, the "planning" comes down to some internal monologue like this:
"Well, that was a bust.
"What can I do next?
"Oh, da--, just shave it and see what happens! "Hey, this looks decent.
"Now, if I could just stop the bleeding and get out there with the camera...."

All the same, though the Beard Blog is still in its infancy, I have messed with my facial hair for the better part of the last decade. (Which is pretty much the amount of time I have been able to grow anything that would show up in photos as something more than the crust of what might have been hot chocolate residue.)

"The Jackman" is one of my recurring beards, at least during the latter half of that decade of beard exploration.

During my second year of teaching, when my classroom was filled with boys--at sixteen of my twenty-two students, I had a veritable football team locker room in there (in sight and smell)--I loved to probe the boundaries of a menacing mien in the facial variety. Though I used such entries as the "Strong Goat," and the "Harley Handlebar," the "Wolverine" was among the most popular. It coincided with the release of the original X-Men film and, though I had seen no previews of it at the time, one of my gravel-voiced boy students croaked, "Whoa, cool! Mr. Chisholm looks like Wolverine!"

I know what you are thinking: "Yeah, he wishes he looked like Jackman--look at him, barely filling that wife-beater with his paltry physique!" (Well, that or, "How the hell does he get them to call him Mister anything?") Still, the original look got many favorable reviews; and a few extra days of reverence from those boys not quickly inclined to grant anything easily. I bring it back almost every time I let my growth go for a while.

This time around, despite the fact that the latest version of the X-Men movies came out within the year, no one mentioned the resemblance. Maybe I should hit the weights a bit more.

Week Thirteen: November 16th

For those of you unfamiliar with The Tale of Despereaux--and I mean the actual book rather than the bastardized movie version (that wouldn't hold the weight of a sponge in the sea)-- you may not have heard the phrase "such the disappointment" with regularity. In the book, Despereaux's mother utters it with remarkable frequency in regards to her youngest (mouse) son. I view these photos with much the same opinion.

Though "The Ladder" was an interesting idea in theory, the translation to the chin (and camera screen) left much to be desired. There are four rungs on the ladder, though the lowest one fell below the curve of my chin and out of view; while the second rung (below my lower lip) fell victim to an aggressive shaving incident. Perhaps "Rotting," or "Rickety Ladder" would have been more appropriate.

All the same, I did have Parent-Teacher Conferences for my students this week and, though these were the first extended discussions I had with many of these folks, I did see a fair few glance toward my chin with confusion. Not that I can blame them: I too would have wondered what had happened to this strange-looking man who clearly has difficulty shaving. Did he shave in the dark or have some sort of shaken-razor syndrome? Poor fellow. Ah well, only six more months before we are free of his grasp. Then, on to better things ... like the summer!

Week Twelve: November 9th

Though not a fan of Metallica, or the throat-shredding lead man who created the song after which this beard is named, I did respect James Hetfield's facial features in the late 80's and early 90's. Of course, my ability to follow in his bearded wake did not arrive until the late 90's, so I offer this twentieth anniversary tribute the man and his mow-job.

I missed the first two days of school this week while attending a conference. You could probably imagine the looks I got while there; strolling the halls, riding the elevators and lurking in the stairwells of one of St. Louis's finest hotels. In case you are not aware: for me to attend a work conference means that I go from an estrogen-heavy environment (16 of 19 teachers at my school are female) to a place where I spent those two days as one of four males among the 300-strong throng of ladies.

And two of the men were presenters!

You can believe this look did little to endear me to these women as a valuable member of their elementary academic community.

Then again, my return to school was not much better. I was at the dry-erase board, writing a morning note when the first students arrived. They came in with the great exhalation of relief that comes with any teacher returning after a hiatus of more than one day.

Their sighs were quickly replaced by sidelong glances and gasps as they peeked at the beard. One girl leaned in and said, "Hang on, wait..turn toward me. Let me see it...ugh that's gross. Ew, it makes you look fat!"

Maybe if I had the benefit of the mind-altering and body-wasting addictive substances of James Hetfield (from the time of those beards) I would have been skeletal enough for her. As it was, Enter Sandman was good enough for me.

Week Eleven: November 2nd

Alright, before anyone gets all excited and lumps me in with the swarm of teen girls descending upon theaters in droves in the coming weeks to view the second installment of the Twilight saga, this beard is not an homage to the aforementioned books or movies. Let's all take a deep breath here.

Better?

Good.

And before you get any grandiose ideas, thinking back upon past posts (circa: week six--The Middle Finger) no, this was not an attempt to show my better side, displayed upon my chin. Besides, I know my hindquarters would never fit on my face, no matter how big my noggin happens to be. And that is saying something...but what it is, even I don't know.

I call this week's delivery the Full Moon, and tried to do it justice with the photo at left. See: rounded--OK, maybe oval in shape--but nonetheless featuring the telltale craters we see as the "Man in the Moon." Oh yeah, I wore the craters with pride all week.

Maybe inspired by the Halloween weekend, or enjoying that I had finally gained enough thickness on the chin to play around with it and have it show up and stand out, I believed the Full Moon a bold step forward. At the very least it is a gesture of support to my Kindergarten daughter, who faithfully records her nightly moon observations in her Moon Journal. I wonder if her teacher would appreciate a photo of this chin-garden attached to the journal upon its return next month?

Week Ten: October 26th

The beauty of "Letting It Go" was that a few people finally noticed I was growing something! In the photo, you can see the full shag overtaking the chin area, making it look like I concluded a major pub crawl and returned several dozen (pounds) the worse for wear. Maybe the camera adds ten pounds, but this beard appeared to add at least that many. I am almost tempted to ditch the whole jaw-yard and start fresh, just so I can remember I have skin under there somewhere.

Then again, what would be the fun in that?

One of my female students (most of the "girls" to whom I refer in these posts are actually the same girl) snapped off the zing on Monday morning as she looked in disgust at my chin and asked, "So, what, you are actually trying to grow a beard now?" Now, why would I do that? That just feels so...normal.

At some point, I will go with the full facial shag, but that feels more winter-appropriate. The weather here is still changing far too much to head (or chin, as it may be) in that direction just yet.

Then again, maybe getting rid of it all isn't such a bad idea. We have had so much rain in the past two weeks (concluding with several inches yesterday) that my chin might follow our basement in the mold and mildew-growing contest. Our river valley abode is already moist enough, and our house perpetually smells like a confluence of basement and garage, that I need not add to that insulting olfactory cornucopia with chin, lip and jaw emanations.

Week Nine: October 19th

A scary look, to be sure, though not nearly as scary in the application. I took one look at the picture and toyed with the idea of calling this "The Meph," but feared the repercussions from untold Internet viewings and sharings. People would begin to add up the accoutrement of my daily existence...(1) strange-looking guy, (2) strange-looking facial hair, (3) something not right in his cranial region, (4) enjoys dressing-up, but (5) somehow, not gay and, (6) anniversary near/on Halloween...he must be in a coven! At the very least he must practice the arts of a Wicca, those in the field of witchcraft, as they walk among us! How could we know?

Let's all relax. I brew no potions at home and, though I have been known to drink the occasional brew in my time, most of those days have long since passed. Plus, those brews never came from cauldrons, though there were many late nights all those years ago, and who knows from what vessels I actually consumed said brew. But that is another story.

Again, I needed a bridging beard between two looks: the former,The Trident, and the latter, the special Halloween facial concoction still in the making. As expected, The Point drew few comments, save one disgusted sneer from a student of mine who said, "Ech, what is that supposed to be now?"

So, though I did find myself tugging mercilessly on my chin all week, to keep the point sharp, I found little other need for explanation. If not mysterious, what was Meph?

Week Eight: October 12th

Keeping with the nautical theme established by last week's Stingray, I plumbed the watery depths in search of the bearded lord of the seas: Poseidon. Though The Trident did not gain as much notice as The Stingray--after all, the triple tines of a trident are not nearly as exciting as the barbed tail of the stingray--this look did gain notice in other ways.

Mostly, people noticed it for the small tuft of hair on my upper lip which, due to a shaving accident, came out off-center and lopsided (longer on one side than the other.) So, aside from receiving many Hitler-related comments about the mini-'stache, no one said much of anything about The Trident. Sad that the 'stache got so many nods when I only left it because I realized the sides would be taller than the middle tine without it. Curse these concept beards!

On the bright side, I did manage to secure a large number of skeptical glances from parents on Thursday night when I did a storytelling for a group of Kindergartners. Though the kids enjoyed the rhyming shenanigans, the parents held those kids close, as though there was something to fear. And that was even after I was introduced as a teacher in their district.

The following night, it came full circle as I began my yearly Halloween shows at the zoo. With this year's theme being of the pirate persuasion, this facial 'do suited that venue just fine. So, while I may look like a degenerate wannabe biker, the folks who see me pretending to be an incompetent pirate (and shush to those of you saying I should not have a difficult time being an incompetent anything) think it's just fine. We'll see what I can whip up next week, as I have something in mind for my Halloween costume and I need a solid bridging beard.

Week Seven: October 5th

"Oh my God, he's crazy!"

Over the years, I have heard this phrase more than a few times, mostly from adults or adolescents. I especially hear it when doing shows at the zoo at Halloween. Rarely do I hear it from one of my students.

Monday morning, in the classroom debut of "The Stingray," a nod to our younger daughter (Adelai) and her favorite animal, we sat down in front of the classroom to do a read-aloud. Of late, this has become our routine, as has the Monday status-check on the beard.

It was clear the students were confused this time, as they could not ascertain the meaning of the wide hair-spread on the chin. One girls swooped in to save the day, noting, "Mr. Chisholm, um, you missed a spot of hair under your neck there."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. It's right there."

"No, that's the Stingray's tail."

That drew some collective murmurs and more confusion. So, like a good teacher, I pointed out the stingray's head, above my upper lip; his wings, splayed out to the sides of my cheeks and jaw; his tail, running in a narrow band along my throat and Adam's Apple; and his stinger, jutting off to the side of my neck in not-so-menacing fashion.

The more I pointed out, the more the kids' eyes goggled. Was I a person who actually thought these things through before doing them? The wheels were spinning: You mean he does these things on purpose? After a moment of silence, they all looked around to see who would speak first.

One rather quiet girl near the back of the group, whose lip already had curled back in semi-disgust, turned to her nearest neighbor and, in a desperate whisper of realization uttered those words, perhaps for the first time: "Oh my God, he's crazy!"

I don't know how many of them heard her, but a few seconds later the assembled group erupted into simultaneous discussion--everyone talking and no one really listening. The flood of surprise and words gushed through the Monday morning calm, and I simply opened the book and began reading aloud.

Week Six: September 28th

Maybe everyone has those weeks when you are angry at everything--you are the embodiment of Anakin Skywalker's inner conflict and Harry Potter's (book five) rip-off of the same. While general rules of decorum would prevent any rational person from taking this seemingly inexplicable anger sessions out on anyone and everyone around, there are always subtle jabs you can make at the establishment.

For me, it was this look, which I called "The Middle Finger."

Flipping the bird at everything in the form of facial hair may not seem like much, but it helped me. It was one of those head-clearing, get-over-it weeks that get you past those Anakin phases, and it worked.

As a bonus, Adelai (our younger daughter) entered the bathroom as I was shaving, and I smiled at her during the blade's downstroke to the right of my mouth. Since my mouth purses at the corner during a smile, I sliced right through the pursed skin and blood cascaded down my face. The only thing to do was await the scabbing and, of course, capture it on film. Personally, I found the toughness this lent to the overall look a nod to its credibility in general.

As for comments, my father was not so sure about the little 'stache, and likened it to a certain former German dictator. All of my students were a bit puzzled, or all but one girl who told me, "Oh. No, you have GOT to get rid of that little mustache-thing." Maybe next week.

Week Five: September 21st

Though I debated calling this "The French T," Ella preferred that I just call it "The T," so I defer to the five year-old wisdom of it all. After all, if this is not a childish pursuit, what is it?

Perhaps I could attempt to fit in on a college campus with this look. A scholarly bite-back at all those years I did not possess the capacity for facial hair during my undergraduate matriculation. I could lease a thrift-store tweed jacket--elbow patches mandatory--and head off to the nearest institution of higher learning. Pedal about the grounds on an old-school bicycle, one pant-leg jacked-up to avoid chain grease. Upon reaching my destination, I could shed my shoes and socks (I will not be confined by the shackles of man) and settle in to read a philosophical tome. But only if I sat directly in the sun--jacket still on--never breaking a sweat.

But, I digress....

The T only gained notice on Monday, as my students gathered around me for a read-aloud and one inquired, "Did you shave again?" To which another replied, "Yeah, he shaves every week, didn't you know this already?" (He, of course, just discovered this last week, but such is the rubbing-the-dog's-face-in-excrement way of elementary school.) After that, The T faded into beard obscurity, along with the nameless other beards I have sported over the years. I suppose next week calls for a big change.

Week Four: September 14th

Captain, whatever you are thinking, it is highly illogical....

And now for the Nimoy-inspired "Vulcan." The Trekkies among you would likely cite my ignorance and cry foul over a (facial) hairless race possessing some chin-scrub to go along with the spear-pointed sideburns. Maybe Spock never grew facial hair, but you can bet our boy Leonard N. has sported a sweet salt-and-p goatee at almost every public appearance since the conclusion of his final journey.

While my past facial hedges have received little notice and even less acclaim, this one garnered instant props. Most adults simply shook their heads and smiled wearily in the direction of my chin. My students, however, formed many different camps, all of which verged on some snarky form of hostility. "WHAT is that?" "It looks like a man on your face!" "Ew, did you shave again? It looks gross!" and many more utterances of wonder came my way throughout the week.

On the downside: I shaved this new fashion on Friday night--so excited was I to start the new look--but I ran a double-stroller-pushing 5K race on Saturday morning and finished with the spaces beneath my lower lip so chafed they had begun to bleed.

Oh, the price we pay for our chin-sprout adventures.

Week Three: September 7th

Perhaps inspired by this, the sandwich week between the college football opener and the impending head-mashing of NFL Sunday, I present The Chinstrap! (With complimentary cro-magnon pose.) Maybe I should have had one of my daughters thrash me about the head and shoulders to make it look complete.

Not one of my strongest entries to date--at least based on the lack of notice it achieved--nevertheless, I enjoyed it, and felt the accompanying aggression surging throughout its week of semi-hirstute drapery.

One twist: it was school picture week. So, years from now, as my current students are sharing their fourth grade yearbooks with friends, they will no doubt receive one of the following two questions: (1) Dude, why the HELL did you buy a yearbook in fourth grade? Loser; and/or (2) Who was that psycho? Was that your teacher? At least I get enjoyment out of these speculations. A guy has to create his legacy somehow....

Not until Friday did one of my students notice the look, and even then only in an offhand way, as she asked, "Did you shave something?" By that time, the stubble from the intervening week had all but overtaken the 'strap. She did, however, follow it with this week's best line (delivered only moments before dismissal.) As I leaned over to point across the room to something, she glanced up at me and yelled, "Ew, you really need to shave your armpits!"

Please, don't give me any ideas.

Week Two: August 31st

If only I could have pulled off Abe's sweet coif on this one as well. Ah, such are the trials of those who shave their heads during the summer. I would have preferred a bit more thickness in the chin region, but that might have been confused for the Amish, which I am sure will happen at a later date.

Looking at the photo now, I should have busted out the bow tie and gone after this in pioneer fashion. Well, I'll make up for it by popping out a fat split-rail fence to sequester our family environs from the rest of our ghetto-hood. Who needs chain link? Split rail is the new fortress!

One of my students noticed, but only enough to ask, "Did you shave something?" While another inquired, "What, you can't grow a mustache? NOT that I want you too." Oh, that day will come my friend, that day will come.

Week One: August 24th

After keeping it clean for the first week of school, it was time to get dirty-faced. I made it as far as Friday's Meet The Teacher (8-14) with a neatly-trimmed goat, pencil-thin sides and a clean, shorn look.

Then I just let things grow the following week, and though I am not a particularly fast grower, I had some nice scrub-face going by the next Friday. (Only one kid asked, "Are you ever going to shave?) We shall see....

So began the official journey with this entry I call the Burgeoning Beard. Nothing serious, but slightly more sand paper than Indy Jones. Every beard has to start somewhere.