One night this past week I walked into the kitchen as Eve was preparing dinner and from behind gently rested my face against hers.  It took only a few seconds for her to lightly shriek and turn around and say "you shaved!" and then tell me that I have such a cute face.  My mother used to say the same thing.  "Why do you cover your nice face with that ugly beard?" she would always ask me.

The beard usually comes some time in November, just as the weather starts to chill.  There are a few reasons for it.  I like having a beard.  It is cozy and it keeps me warm.  It also reminds me of my father, who always had one.  He grew his for the first time in 1972 when he badly burnt his left hand in an accident and he could not hold a razor.  My greys, browns, and even hints of red look just like his did, and when I look in the mirror and see his beard on my face I like it.  My sons also have a beard and it adds to a sense of father/son camaraderie when we all do during the winter months.

It also has practical advantages.  I don't have to shave.  I don't like shaving.  Years ago I had a shaving brush and shaving soap and tried to make it an art form.  It was fun for awhile, but who has the time to lather up shaving soap every morning.  I took to shaving in the shower but often did a lousy job of it because I could not see what I was doing.

With the coming of spring the beard is typically shed.  Like this past week.  It feels refreshing, though I still find shaving to be a pain.  I wonder how women feel about putting makeup on each morning.  It is different though -- that is beautifying, shaving is like cleaning.

Anyway, I have to run to the drug store for more bandaids.  I have a huge gash under my lip from sloppy shaving this morning.  I wonder if it is time for a summer beard.