As a young man growing up in rural Southwest Georgia, yes I am a proud Albanian, there were certain things that I marked on my calendar as things that I could not wait to do. They included things like: getting my first kiss, making it pass third base, getting my learner’s license, getting my driver’s license, and oddly enough growing my mustache. Yes, I said it, growing my mustache. I remember thinking to myself that if I could grow a mustache, not the peach fuzz that the older guys would tease us about, then I would ascend into manhood. Hell, the need was so great to grow a beard that I would take any advice given in order to obtain my passage into manhood. Even if it meant taking a little of my own urine and rubbing it across the top of my lips to accomplish this. Hey, what can I say, I was very impressionable. Did it work, well I will leave that for another blog. However, I will say that later on in life I would receive tips on how to get hair on my face from the opposite sex which were much more of my liking than using urine. But I digress. As trivial as the idea of growing a mustache is now, at the time it was a must.
Now fast forward a few years later to a driver’s license carrying, multiple home room hitting, and newly minted and manicure mustache having 17 year old Scott Johnson Hall and one could not tell me that I wasn’t a man. Oh the naivety! Then like just like that, the mustache was gone. Not because of some barber who had forget to change the guard on his clipper or some high school prank from my friends gone wrong, but by Uncle Sam. Yes that old guy pointing back from a poster telling me that he needed my services. However, I would later learn, the mustache was not part of the service that was requested. Then just like that, the mustache was gone. Wait did I already say that? Yes, I did already say that. Perhaps I have not gotten over the trauma of the day sitting in the barber chair at Paris Island, South Carolina waiting to go through another ritual. If you are a Marine then you know exactly what I mean. And for the next four years of my life, the mustache was gone. However, I vowed that if I ever decided to return to civilian life, I would grow as much hair as my face could handle. Or at least as much as other humans could stand.
Eventually I did return to civilian life and make true on the vow I made while sitting in that barber chair. Since then I have grown not only a mustache but also a beard. Oddly enough I have also been clean shaven as well since then. Yes, my face was smooth as a baby’s bottom. Wait, is it alright to say that? Anyway, enough of me and my beard. This blog is about whether to be bearded or not. As one who has gone down both paths, by choice and by force, I can truly say that it is left up to the woman. Excuse me. Yes, I said it. However, I did not think I would have to.
Lately there have been a renewed interest on social media for men who have the ability to grow their mane. These individuals call themselves the “beard gang.” I have not earned membership into its club, nor do I wish too, due to the fact it is for those who have a fascination with guys with beards. See I prefer to look only at the hair on my face. However, again that is not the basis of this blog. Then what is the basis? Well you did read the title. Is this really a question worth tackling? Well perhaps if you are in the “beard gang.” So for those who are members, I poise a question to you; Does it matter that a man has hair on his face or not? If so please tell me? I do accept all comments, complaints, and rants. Peace and Love.
Scott Johnson Hall
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