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.