In order to take flight, one needs some sort wing wing-like device or Da Vinci-esque apparatus. Due to my commitment to bearding excellence, and the recent push to ever-increasing facial hair lengths over the quest to win style points, I happily discovered this week's creation: "Take Flight."
Had I not allowed my facial mane to grow to such an extent, curling slightly under the jaw, I would not have happened upon a great hirsute accident. No doubt owing to my hard-sleeping patterns--I often press my pillow so hard with my face that the pillow creases do not shake from my skin until nearly three hours later (though maybe that has something to do with my older face...)--I often awaken with some strange snarls in the chin and jaw region. One day I spied what appeared to be wings on one side of my face, surprising myself with the fact that the hairs curling under my lower mandible had grown to such lengths without my knowledge. Surprising when you consider that my students give me a hard time because, as they say, "you are always playing with your beard."
Back when I was in late elementary school and early middle school, in the time when it was a proven fact that my mother did not relish getting us haircuts of any kind, my hair grew so far down the sides of my head that my slightly-poking out ears forced that hair out and away in the manner of wings. Though I did not approve of the look at the time--even a few years later, after discovering the fastest-talking mumble-barber in town who could shave a nice high-and-tight, I called that winged hairdo my Planet of the Apes look--I now celebrate it any time I see old photos of myself. My brother with the Dutch-Boy bowl-cut and I with my premature mop-top, finely parted down the middle. Who knew what our bearding future held?
Regardless, the wing on the side of my face that fateful morning prompted some facial mashing and beard-tugging to see if I could match it with a symmetrical design. Lo and behold, I could. And so we have the chance, at last, to Take Flight.
