Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Stache

I don't fully understand the reasoning, and I suppose that I never will. I can't, really. I'm not a guy. And I've never had cancer.

But something funny happened when I was back home this last time. After surviving the scariest experience of our family's collective life, Dad decided to do something. He started to grow his moustache back out, even though it's been well over a decade since he last had one. And this time, he's growing a beard too.

Dad rocked a moustache for a very long time. Pretty much as soon as he could grow one, he did. Before he married my Mom, and through all of my childhood, he had it. He was burned in a bad truck versus man accident, and had to let it go for a while as a result. Once his skin had healed, and he could regrow it, the stache was back. Until all of a sudden one day when it wasn't. Not sure why, just one day it was gone. He shaved it off for good.

He's never, ever had a beard though. Until now.

I can't pretend to understand, though in some ways it makes sense to me. Bucking the system. Rebelling. Not giving in to society's rule about these things. Fighting the man. Being angry and just not giving a damn. Proving that you can do it. Making a point. I'd suppose that all of these are a part of it.

I've lived with a guy who went through a similar experience a while back. Tom did the same thing after he was diagnosed. He grew out his beard and his moustache. For a while he started to resemble a mountain man. I never questioned why he did it. I just always figured that there was a reason.

And there was then, as there is now. Even if no one else ever understands.

Rock the stache, Dad. Rock it.

1 comment:

  1. Every time my Mom was pregnant or when she had her hysterectomy, my Dad shaved his moustache...he always had one growing up. Maybe it was his way of taking control. The one thing he could control in the environment that seemed out of control. More power to him.

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