Installment Twenty Six...

"Angels fly because they take themselves lightly."

-G. K. Chesterton

Blogging is for Dweebs

And, as a card carrying member of the Dorks Of America, I can say it's good to be back.

Let me begin this sojourn back into the land of the (mostly) living with a topic that has been on my mind of late. Or at least my face. I'm talking of course about facial hair, and I'm afraid that other, less meaningful topics (e.g. how I spent my summer at a Bible camp, what it was like being in the same time-zone as the girl with whom I'm prayerfully cultivating a "getting-to-know-you" relationship, the role of rest and peace in the life of a child of God etc.) will have to wait.

What concerns me chiefly right now is the role that facial hair has played in my life and the question of whether or not I should keep what little of it I have on my face (or continue the life of slavery and hardship that is shaving).

First things first, a brief personal history of facial hair:

• About six years old: I wonder to myself where mustaches come from and reach the conclusion (based on a little research and personal observation) that a man's mustache grows from his nostrils. Riddle solved.
• A little later: Bad discovery. I notice some of the older ladies in our village have faint mustaches. Conclusion: Everyone has facial hair; it's just that most women, in order to please their too-psychically focused husbands, decide to shave it off (which calls my Dad's moral character into question and explains my Mom's need for razor and shaving cream). I begin to wonder if God will be okay with me asking my wife to please shave or if that would be changing things too much from the way they're supposed to be (how did Adam cope with Eve's facial hair?). Oh yeah, and it turns out the nostril-hair thing's a bust.
• Puberty: Ahh! Dark hairs on my face! I pull them out in an attempt to keep all the changes at bay. They keep growing.
• A little later: Peach fuzz big time above my lip. Surely girls are not attracted to this!
• A little more later: I shave for the first time! Worries over; it's a carefree life of clean-shaveness from here on out!
• More a little later: Discover the need to shave again, but if I ask Dad if I can borrow his razor will he think I'm growing up too fast? I decide to lock the door and shave in secret. This continues for several months till what I'm doing gradually becomes obvious to Mom and Dad.
• About fifteen years old: The rest of the family finds out that I shave. And the world breaths a collective sigh of relief.
• Spring 2006: Grow a beard-like thing.
• Summer 2006: Shave off beard-like thing. Continue slavishly shaving the rest of summer.
• END OF SUMMER 2006: BEARD-LIKE THING RETURNS! Boy it's nice not to shave! But boy oh boy is my face ever scratchy! [Angst piles up, provoking blog post...]

Okay, so that's where we're at now. I like having facial hair (and not having to shave!), but I think that, on a nineteen-year-old, it might just look like I'm trying too hard. Maybe I should shave and just wait till I'm twenty to let it grow back. Yes I think that's what I'll do.

Hey look! It took me so long to write this post that I've already arrived at a decision without getting to hear any of your input. Oh darn. Well, they'll be more angst to come, I'm sure. Until then, this is me, signing off.