Facial Hair.
I hate shaving. I think most men do. Some men go through their entire lives shaving every single day. They never even let it grow out more than a few days on their vacations. Some men never shave.
I subscribe to both approaches. I go through lengthy periods of time when I shave every day and I also go through stages in which I don't shave at all. As of late, I have been wearing a beard. It is a trimmed, short beard but a beard nonetheless.
I once grew my beard out for 6 months without so much as a trim. People I knew for years didn't recognize me. I liked that. I felt like a different person. I felt like I was wearing a permanent disguise.
Men get to indulge in the playful enjoyment of face grooming. We can grow a mustache or a goatee. We can grow a full beard or sideburns. As much as we all hate shaving, it is something we must do in our society. And a lot of us do enjoy playing around with our facial hair options.
When my father was post-op in the hospital, I convinced him to grow a beard; since it was hard for him to lift his weak arms to his face, let alone shave. He hadn't worn a beard since the early seventies. As long as I've known him he has shaved every day. Maybe he'll let a day go by but never more than that. In the hospital, he let it go a few days, then went nuts and had to shave. He wobbled over to the bathroom in his gown, using his walker and spent 3 razors shaving. The man has a thick mane. He couldn't take it. It bothered him to have that growth on his face much in the same vain as it bothers me to feel the wool of a sweater on my arm skin. Who knows if it is OCD or not but he could not have it. He had to have it removed. And much to his credit, he did just that. He struggled past his post surgical limitations and made sure that beard left his face.
I love growing beards. I hate having the hair on my face as much as I relish in it growing there. I obsess over it. If I know I am growing a beard, I think about it all the time. I lie awake in bed and imagine the little hairs flourishing. I think about the crop the new day will bring when I awaken.
And then I have a beard. I have this bushel of hair on my face. And once it is there, I lick. I cannot help but to play with that hair. I play with my tongue. I put the mustache hair in my mouth. I am constantly working my tongue all over my beard, as far as it will reach. It is an obsessive compulsion. Then, I grab my bottom lip with my teeth, pull it into my mouth and grab a hold of the lower beard hair. I suck it into my mouth. I have to feel the individual hairs in my mouth. If I can work one, single hair between my two front teeth...oooh, that's heaven. Or hell. I'm not sure. I have to run the individual hairs through the gaps in my teeth. I will do this over and over until it feels right. And it never does. I will use my hands to push the sides of my mustache into my mouth so that my tongue can grab it and feel it inside my mouth. I am not satisfied until my tongue feels the individual hairs.
Years ago, I had a very long goatee. It was probably 5 or 6 inches off my chin. I used to just grab that whole bushel of hair and shove it in my mouth. It was such relief to have that chunk of hair in my mouth. In fact, as I type this I long for that feeling. It is frustrating the shit out of me to not be able to do that, being as my beard is not long enough. All I can do is force the short "soul patch" beard hairs into my mouth in a repetitive attempt to get one between my top two front teeth. This is what I am doing now. Over and over. Obsessively!
I have often tried to get my father to grow his beard. I think his beard would look pretty cool, considering it is most certainly all gray. I took advantage of his sedentary state when he was hospitalized. But that was not the first or last time I made the suggestion. A comment he made once stays with me. He said the reason he doesn't grow it anymore is because he ends up playing with it too much with his tongue.
Wow. Is that just something he does because it is there and so close to his tongue? Maybe. I think a lot of people with beards do that. But do they obsess over it? Is it all they think about? Do they lie awake in bed at night, thinking about all the hairs they will be able to stroke with their tongues the next day as I do? Probably not.
I still wonder if my dad did. If he obsessed over his beard. My father. My flesh. My blood. His beard. The beard he refuses to grow because his tongue traveled its established design too much. Who knows? I am not about to ask.
My beard will continue on. I shall grow it and shave it. And I shall obsess over its growth and lack thereof.
I hate shaving. I think most men do. Some men go through their entire lives shaving every single day. They never even let it grow out more than a few days on their vacations. Some men never shave.
I subscribe to both approaches. I go through lengthy periods of time when I shave every day and I also go through stages in which I don't shave at all. As of late, I have been wearing a beard. It is a trimmed, short beard but a beard nonetheless.
I once grew my beard out for 6 months without so much as a trim. People I knew for years didn't recognize me. I liked that. I felt like a different person. I felt like I was wearing a permanent disguise.
Men get to indulge in the playful enjoyment of face grooming. We can grow a mustache or a goatee. We can grow a full beard or sideburns. As much as we all hate shaving, it is something we must do in our society. And a lot of us do enjoy playing around with our facial hair options.
When my father was post-op in the hospital, I convinced him to grow a beard; since it was hard for him to lift his weak arms to his face, let alone shave. He hadn't worn a beard since the early seventies. As long as I've known him he has shaved every day. Maybe he'll let a day go by but never more than that. In the hospital, he let it go a few days, then went nuts and had to shave. He wobbled over to the bathroom in his gown, using his walker and spent 3 razors shaving. The man has a thick mane. He couldn't take it. It bothered him to have that growth on his face much in the same vain as it bothers me to feel the wool of a sweater on my arm skin. Who knows if it is OCD or not but he could not have it. He had to have it removed. And much to his credit, he did just that. He struggled past his post surgical limitations and made sure that beard left his face.
I love growing beards. I hate having the hair on my face as much as I relish in it growing there. I obsess over it. If I know I am growing a beard, I think about it all the time. I lie awake in bed and imagine the little hairs flourishing. I think about the crop the new day will bring when I awaken.
And then I have a beard. I have this bushel of hair on my face. And once it is there, I lick. I cannot help but to play with that hair. I play with my tongue. I put the mustache hair in my mouth. I am constantly working my tongue all over my beard, as far as it will reach. It is an obsessive compulsion. Then, I grab my bottom lip with my teeth, pull it into my mouth and grab a hold of the lower beard hair. I suck it into my mouth. I have to feel the individual hairs in my mouth. If I can work one, single hair between my two front teeth...oooh, that's heaven. Or hell. I'm not sure. I have to run the individual hairs through the gaps in my teeth. I will do this over and over until it feels right. And it never does. I will use my hands to push the sides of my mustache into my mouth so that my tongue can grab it and feel it inside my mouth. I am not satisfied until my tongue feels the individual hairs.
Years ago, I had a very long goatee. It was probably 5 or 6 inches off my chin. I used to just grab that whole bushel of hair and shove it in my mouth. It was such relief to have that chunk of hair in my mouth. In fact, as I type this I long for that feeling. It is frustrating the shit out of me to not be able to do that, being as my beard is not long enough. All I can do is force the short "soul patch" beard hairs into my mouth in a repetitive attempt to get one between my top two front teeth. This is what I am doing now. Over and over. Obsessively!
I have often tried to get my father to grow his beard. I think his beard would look pretty cool, considering it is most certainly all gray. I took advantage of his sedentary state when he was hospitalized. But that was not the first or last time I made the suggestion. A comment he made once stays with me. He said the reason he doesn't grow it anymore is because he ends up playing with it too much with his tongue.
Wow. Is that just something he does because it is there and so close to his tongue? Maybe. I think a lot of people with beards do that. But do they obsess over it? Is it all they think about? Do they lie awake in bed at night, thinking about all the hairs they will be able to stroke with their tongues the next day as I do? Probably not.
I still wonder if my dad did. If he obsessed over his beard. My father. My flesh. My blood. His beard. The beard he refuses to grow because his tongue traveled its established design too much. Who knows? I am not about to ask.
My beard will continue on. I shall grow it and shave it. And I shall obsess over its growth and lack thereof.
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