I think I just went through my mid-life crisis, but Im not sure.
I guess I was expecting something big, like the urge to buy a sports car, or to quit my job to write poetry, or at least to take a yearlong sabbatical to cross the country and “find America.” Instead, I grew a beard. Technically, I didnt even grow a beard, but a goatee and moustache. Now, this might not sound like that big of a deal to some of you, but to me, it was. Not as big, Ill admit, as some examples of other mid-life crises with which I am familiar. For example, I know of one local newspaper publisher (ahem!) who recently bought a boat. Although he does deny that this can be classified as a mid-life crisis response, in my book, it fits the description. But even thats nothing to another mid-life crisis that I know of where a husband opted to spend his quality time with a woman other than his wife. After awhile, he came clean and admitted to the whole thing. But he was torn. He still wanted to be with the other woman, but he didnt think a divorce was financially feasible. So he presented his wife with what he thought was a good idea at the time: he would stay with her, continue to contribute to the house expenses, yet keep seeing his girlfriend. His wife explained to him that there is something inherently wrong with being married and still dating, and then threw him out. Okay, so back to my facial hair. The reason this is a big deal is that I have never ever had so much as a wisp of a moustache in my life. Truth is, as a young man, my capacity for cultivating facial hair left a lot to be desired. At first, this was frustrating. I past puberty right around the time Joe Namath, star quarterback for the New York Jets and just about the coolest sports hero around, was wearing a Fu Manchu. In basketball, the likes of Wilt Chamberlain, Bill Russell and Walt Frazier wore some combination of beards, moustaches, even mutton chop sideburns. And what red blooded American baseball fan doesnt remember Rollie Fingers, star relief pitcher for the Oakland As, and his handlebar moustache. Closer to home, one of my best friends growing up used to get a five oclock shadow when he was in eighth grade. (Im not exaggerating; when we were in high school, college kids used to ask him to try to go into saloons to buy them beer.) As for me, in those days my facial hair output could be described at best as sparse, so I made up for it by allowing the hair on my head to grow to shoulder length. (You know, I wanted to express my individuality by looking like every other American teenager at the time.) I remained clean-shaven from then on, until this past Christmas season when, over an extended holiday vacation, one of my children asked why I dont have a beard. Before I could answer, my bride responded that I was incapable of such an effort. Why not just tell my son Im half a man, or that bullies kick sand in my face on the beach, I thought. So with all the natural maturity a man has, I said, “Oh, yeah? Well then what if I just let my beard grow?” At that my bride, with a roll of the eyes and that dismissive tone wives always use when they think their husbands are acting like children, said, “You just go ahead and try, dear.” (Or something similar that.) Truth is, we both won. (Not that this was a competition or anything.) After a couple of weeks, the goatee and moustache was coming in find, but the rest of the facial hair looked scraggly, and part of the sideburns were missing in action. So I decided to keep what was working and lose the rest. Reaction so far has mostly been positive, except for one female friend of mine with a British accent who, when I pointed to my chin and asked what she thought of my growth, said, “I think Im not liking it.” Then there was my one son who told me he really liked it. Joking, I said that anything that covers up part of my face is an improvement. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “yeah.” I dont use that line any more. Anyway, my wife hasnt weighed in one way or another. I take this as a vote for the moustache and goatee because, believe me, if she hated it, she would have sheared it off while I was sleeping. Kind of like what happened to John Wayne Bobbit, although kind of not, too, if you know what I mean. Or it could be she just recognizes this as just a phase Im going through and realizes it could be worse. Like I could be pricing a speed boat. Or worse.