Fraternity of Bearded Poets
Jack wrote a poem about his beard and it got me to thinking. What is it about our facial hair that causes us to hold on to it? For me, when I grew my first mustache at sixteen, it was almost a right of passage to manhood. When I look back at old pictures, it doesn't look so manly. My Mom had always threatened to shave it off in my sleep. She never did, so here I am Thirtyfive years later still sporting a mustache with an added Goatie under my chin. The younger amongst us may consider me an old goat so I think it is appropriate. I prefer of course to think it is distinguished, especially considering the amount of grey that has appeared. Perhaps in a few years I will look back and think, it looks as silly as that picture of my Sixteen year old Self. For now it will remain, kind of like an old friend you don't wish to part with.
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