Today marks the fourth of my Dad’s “birthdays” where I am unable to physically share a hug with him.
I am lucky in that I actually had a father that I could hug. Many do not, and some of the children I teach on-the-daily never have. Small blessings, it seems, do not always transform into happy gifts.
This Summer, I decided to stop shaving my face.
First autumn morning
the mirror I stare into
shows my father's face.--Murakami Kijo
It’s not that I abhor the act, but I became curious as to where such a ‘not-act’ would eventually go. The day before the first day of school this Fall, I basically said (to myself) “I’ll shave tomorrow.” I did not, and virtually all my students and coworkers met me that first day with the words of affirmation “Keep it!” that echo, to this day.
From my earliest memory, Dad held a beard; and—when I say ‘beard’—I mean “down to his bellybutton” levels of personal dedication!
I’m not quite there, yet.
So, here I am—running my fingers through 6cm of growth—and thinking about my father, and thinking about what having a beard actually means…
I am reminded of Randy Waterhouse's experience with his girlfriend, and her scholarly article deconstructing beards.
Charlene wrote:
" The boundary between Self and Environment is a social con[struct]. In Western cultures this boundary is supposed to be sharp and distinct. The beard is an outward symbol of that boundary, a distancing technique. To shave off the beard (or any body hair) is to symbolically annihilate the (essentially specious) boundary separating Self from Other . . ."
—Neal Stephenson, Cryptonomicon, p. 77
Now--as funny and erudite as Stephenson's character/context building is (Charlene's "scholarly article" was a tool she used to generate the external validation she needed to help her ease the transition from being in, to out of, a relationship with Randy)--I've since grown to find that some cultures favor beards, while others do not. It's extremely interesting to watch this all play-out smile
I'm currently approaching this as a personal achievement (and, to a degree, social experiment), and I'm learning to remember how to understand what "loss" means. It sure would be really helpful if I could get your current perspective on this, Dad.
Since I cannot, I'm gana' have to rely upon good ol' Faith, and trust that your having resisted "mowing the grass" for all those decades speaks to the heart of the matter.
Let us turn our eyes
To the things that matter most.
I look to you, now.
Happy 89th Birthday, Dad.