Mid-December

Lots of Goat-Haters out there....

I will be the first to admit that I appear to be incapable of growing facial hair at an even rate, whether throughout the beard or on certain sides of my face. Once again it seems as though the right side of my beard is growing at a more rapid rate than the left or center. Not only that, but the right side is growing in thicker...thus the natural sweep to the right you see in the photo above. Like the necessity for alignment of car tires that are suddenly pulling to one side or another it would seem that I need some creative trimming to even out this situation. That is counterproductive, not to mention against the spirit of this whole affair, so it is not happening!

Of course, many people like to point this out, more so the adults around my school than the kids, who have already begun to regret the challenge they posed to me a few short months ago. Now that the beard has entered its middle-ground shaggy phase, the kids have to deal with the untamed hairs reaching in every direction on any given day, and in no particularly predictable fashion. The adults in our school feel it necessary to comment on this, while the kids are giving me cringing looks that tell me I should shave...and do it SOON!

Meanwhile, on the home front, my older daughter enjoys keeping track of the growth and revels in running commentary about how this iteration of the beard/goat is coming in with a lot more white. She has taken to calling me Whitebeard from time to time. That is hardly necessary, though it is apparent that this girl has inherited her father's occasionally biting and always quick tongue. Our younger daughter just vacillates between her desire to see the "Big Beard" return and the need to see me clean shaven.

These are the grueling middle months of beard growth that no one glamorizes. They are the necessary meat in the sandwich of facial hair odysseys--some days you get bologna and others salami--you just have to power through and hope to shake the stink.

Mid-November

It's one thing for growth to happen at irregular rates. I, for one, was a slow-grower. Though I experienced frequent physical growing pains in my legs as a lad, I rarely saw an physical pay-off in the experiences. I actually entered high school just over five feet tall and would eventually skyrocket, in incremental doses, over the next five years, to the towering height of 5'8". Even within my elementary school building, peopled as it is with ladies and children, I am still not a tower of physical stature by any means. In fact, most of the ladies with whom I work are of equal or greater height and the kids who have passed through the school, and especially through my classroom, love to return and marvel at how much taller than me they have grown. Trust me, this is not difficult. Our poor daughters have been shackled by the physical limitations placed on them by my vertically-challenged genes, just as I was held back by my own mother's limited height: she was all of five feet, one-and-a-half inches, and you had better believe that extra half inch was always important!

Even growing up, I had moments when the growth rates of my body did not follow any kind pf symmetrical plan. Aside from my cranium, which by all accounts has always been massive (the genetic gift of my father, the only size 8 fitted hat I have met in person), my limbs did not often cooperate: through high school, college, and into early "professional" life, one of my legs was at least half an inch shorter than the other, causing numerous back issues and the perpetual orthotic insertion of a foam pad my doctor and mother incessantly called a "shoe-cookie," for years, perhaps hastening its entrance into its subterranean landfill domain.

I would love to imagine that this asymmetrical growth does not extend to my hair but that would simply not be true. Last year, during the eight-month beard adventure, I struggled with the truth that the right side of my face grew hair quicker than the left side. I hoped it was simply a matter of accidental trimming while paring the facial garden but as you can see from the photo above (straight-on shot) that habit persists into the Year of the Goat. I am half-determined to leave it alone, combing it under to hide this strange growth-pattern, but why not be proud of it and leave it for all the world to see? After all, it was our Parent-Teacher Conferences this past week and they got to enjoy this phase of the growth, when no amount of manicure and mane-tending can tame the wild growth of the fourth month. Goat ON!

Mid-October

I am getting to this one a little late, but these pictures were actually taken close to mid-October. One must preserve the integrity of the goat journey after all. I am nearing the point at which I will have to shave, or at least thin the moustache portion of this evolving chin-creature. The razor hairs that spike down into my upper lip and grab at the food passing my lips into my mouth have never struck my fancy. Plus, if I were someone who is married to someone whose face was covered in upper-lip hair, this would be the part I would abhor most of all. You simply cannot avoid those gripper-hairs on the upper lip when your face is close to, or actually in contact with, someone else's face and that someone happens to have a moustache. Unless you are Tom Selleck and have the manliest 'stache going, or you lived n the time of Wyatt Earp, or you are Rollie Fingers or Goose Gossage and you just don't give a damn, you must think of your spouse. In case you are wondering, I have not been smooching any gentlemen callers and have never had the misfortune of rubbing noses with any mustachioed men, but I can imagine it would not feel nice, and I have to consider how my wife feels about the entire thing.

That is, after all, the question I have received most often over the past three years, from the themed-beards of Year One, through the massive facial mane of Year Two and now, in Year Three, the the ever-lengthening goat: "What does your wife think of that?" Anyone who has ever read this--so, all six of you--probably already knows the answer: she likes it. I am asked the question in equal proportion from men and ladies; the men always asking with forlorn admiration in the way that so many men think the wifely grass is greener on my side of the fence (hell, I think it is too, but, as my wife is spoken for BY ME, you gentlemen are out of luck!) The men are always amazed when I tell them she likes it, and they usually follow-up by informing me about the beard stranglehold their wives have on them...clean faces only!

The ladies who ask me reveal their feelings about the beard at the same time. Their question is slightly different: "How does you wife feel about your beard?" but their faces when they ask it tell the story well enough. Few have ever asked me without concurrently crinkling their noses or sneering slightly through pursed lips as though to affirm two things I could have already told them: (1) They think it is disgusting and they never would have allowed me to grow one in their house; (2) The reason I would never have been married any of them. Suffice it to say I am a very fortunate man, and not just because my wife does not mind my beard experimentation.

Mid-September

Maybe it has something to do with gravity and the aging process...or maybe it is because these frequently-abused chin follicles have given up any forms of resistance they may have previously proffered. Or maybe it is something else...some unexplained mystery of the goat-growing universe that has allowed this goat to begin its journey on such a strong foot, or chin.

Whatever the cause, even I was a bit surprised by the change in the chin from the first check-in to the second. When our girls were babies we took weekly photos of them with a sign letting viewers know which week of their life it was. But we also took a monthly photo as they reached that milestone. We were always amazed to look at the changes in the month-to-month photos that we had not noticed in the week-to-week photos. How could we not have seen these major changes in their bodies until we reviewed the monthly photos? These two goats are like that.

Many things change over a month. Our school year is now a month old and the kids who stormed the scene on opening day are already quite a bit different from the ones who now sit and work in our classroom. So, for the record, YES, I am comparing my goatee growth to the physical changes in our two daughters in their first years of life and the character changes among the students in my classroom since the beginning of school. Let's keep these things in perspective, here! Step back and view the changes from afar. We never notice we are older until we are, many years later...so why would it be any different with chin hair?

Goat Check: A New Beginning

Well intrepid facial hair explorers and loyal follower(s) I must admit that I thought my mid-July trim of the monstrosity that was attached to my face would be the end of our remotely-accessed time together. How could I know the level of inquisition the beard's departure would cause? Who could have predicted the outcry over such a little--OK, LARGE--thing? Or, the absence of a large thing, rather.

People who had grown so accustomed to the beard suddenly whisked past me without a second glance. But almost all of them followed with a standard double-take-and-turn to ask if it was really me. Many people thought I lost massive amounts of weight or had undergone some sort of medical procedure.

Well, they were correct on one count: I have lost weight (over 20 pounds since January, 2011) and quite a bit more from my face. These people did not know what to make of this sudden change. At least the change was sudden for them. They did not own my face...but when you undertake a process such as this, your face become public property and bystanders make suggestions they deem worthy of overruling your desires by eminent domain.

There are very few people I will listen to when it comes to the growth of my facial hair; the brief run at Beard Democracy last year notwithstanding. One such group to whom I will acquiesce are my students, particularly when they take an active interest. I once thought of opening the Beard Democracy up to them, in a teach-them-voting-and-public-governance kind of way. I decided against it, perhaps wisely.

But this year, on opening day of school, August 16, 2011, my students sat with me for our first read-aloud (9:04 AM) and inquired as to the whereabouts of my facial hair. I had but a short-trimmed goatee at the time, and no plans to do much more than tinker with designs and sink back into general disregard for my facial hair except maybe around Conference and Open House time.

There they were asking me about the beard in one breath and challenging me to grow a new one in the next. As tempted as I was, I doubted I would do the same thing two years in a row. After all, I am not even teaching the same grade as last year, having moved up from Second to Third this year. (I have only four of the same students so you could say there are 17 new victims, er, students.)

It was precisely one of these students--a vociferous eight year old, if ever there was one--who dropped the challenge to me on opening day. How could I not like this girl instantly? Coming in with little knowledge of me and my ways and wasting all of seven minutes before issuing what may yet become this year's quest:

...to grow a goatee the entire school year.

So, here I am, on my way to doing just that. I don't know if I will succeed or just get sick of the whole affair by mid-year and hack away with scissors and nail-clippers one desperate day in the future at my desk, but we'll see how far this thing goes. Check back for the progress of this wayward goat, and maybe you'll see what happens.

Week Forty-Two: July 4th to 10th

Thursday morning began normally enough, but the hazards of Camp reared their ugly heads that afternoon during a ferocious round of Camp Bingo. It concluded with me slicing portions of hair off my face and appearing during that evening's sing-along and parent performance as Jafar, or some updated and infinitely more twisted version of him.

The binder clip was my late-night addition, and mostly so the extended chin hairs would not spend the night traveling toward (and into) my mouth. I forgot about the clip and slept with it on. It proved to be so comfortable that I wore it all the next morning during breakfast and our morning hike as we bade the kids farewell. Then I wore it during that morning's run and as I biked home. By that time it was all-but fused to the hairs on my chin, as I had applied liberal amounts of sculpting gel in a vain attempt to mold my chin hair into that classic Jafar wave.

Once home it was time for a little more trimming which, of course, I took the time to document, as you will see below:

I enjoy this one, and debated keeping it for the next week. The twisty 'stache and gigantic chops were a nice Gangs of New York look. Bill the Butcher I was not.... This photo does give you a good sense of the uneven growth on the opposite sides of my face. I did nothing to trim the burns or the beard until this day, and that really is how much longer the right side was than the left.

Of course, I wanted to see what it looked like with only one massive 'burn and the look did not disappoint.

I thought I would keep this sweet 'stache for the week, waxing the tips and turning the next few days into a handlebar showcase. Maybe that just exceeded the limits of my creepiness because, in the end, as you will see below, that did not happen.

He's got his whole beard, in his hand....

So there it is, the first time I have seen my full face in over nine months. An odd sight, to say the least. Someone who saw me later that day told me I "shaved twenty years off my face." Another wondered "where the rest of (me) went." People at my usual haunts--the Library and Produce Stand, hardly recognized me. I hardly recognize myself.

It was a good run while it lasted, but it was time for a change and time to give my facial follicles a break. Until next time...keep growing!

Week Forty-One: June 27th to July 3rd

In the waning weeks of The Beard it is probably fortuitous that I work at ZooCamp, where the odd is acceptable, if not expected.

What you see here, the second consecutive week in which I tested the flexibility of my chin hair and facial skin by stringing things onto my beard, is my Camp version of Jack Sparrow.

People were actually surprised that this was the first time I had put on guy-liner. It shouldn't be all that surprising...after all, everything else I have done up to this point has been completely normal, right? And if you are wondering, yes, that is a mop atop my dome. The sanity of wearing this for what followed (an hour-long singing and dancing marathon to get the kids fired up for our Camp overnight, and give parents a glimpse of the Camp craziness) is debatable. I do know I had to take the entire thing home to wash it. That yellow shirt was transparent enough with my sweat that you could see chest hair. How exciting! (Though maybe not for everyone involved in the areas outside my shirt.)

These are the waning weeks of The Beard, which is why you will see a photo of it in its nine-month form at the bottom of this post. It has been quite a journey, much like giving birth to a growth on my face, though that was not my intention. As the Summer turns toward July, I would never be able to endure the sweat-mopping aspects of the massive beard any longer. Next week, there will be some cuts.

As it winds down, and grows larger, people have less fear about asking me strange questions. At Sports Authority this week to buy new running shoes, one of the cashiers asked me "how long it took to grow my face." Good one, as it was one I had not yet heard. The folks in the Education Department at the Zoo apparently know me as "The Fierce Beard," which is exciting in its own way. Maybe I will send them the beard in a bag, atop the hair I shaved off my head earlier this Summer.

One of the men working at the Library in town yesterday told me I looked like Tolstoy. That was a new one. The good folks at blogspot will not allow me to copy pictures I do not own into their pages, so the intriguing images I discovered of Tolstoy himself will not appear here. However, if you seek a diversion one day, check out any Tolstoy images and see for yourself...

...separated at birth?