The Beard

I am not a hairy man. Despite my Armenian heritage, I am a surprisingly hairless individual. Following my ancestry, I should have bushy black eyebrows and a face full of curly black hairs. My chest hair should be bursting from the collar of my shirt and threatening to connect with my shaggy neck beard. However, I did not seem to inherit these traits of hairiness. Although I finished puberty before most of my friends started, they all could grow mustaches before I could. I have never, and probably will never, have a thick lumberjack beard that is fit to be a birds nest. I have been knocked on for my lack of hearty facial hair, however there have been some advantages. I don’t have to shave every day. I can usually just shave with soap in the shower, instead of lathering up with shaving cream and making a 10 minute process out of it. I always look clean-shaven and hygienic.

When I came to the Peace Corps, I decided that I was going to defy my natural looks and see if I could grow a beard. I was never willing to try in America because the first weeks would be too disgusting to tolerate. I had never gone more than a week without shaving in America, but in Micronesia I felt that I could go beyond my limits and let it flow. Over here in the boondocks, I really don’t care what I look like. I am already going to stand out and look weird because I am a little white guy in a sea of big dark islanders. So I put down the razor and let my splotches of facial hair go untrimmed.

At first it was rather gross. Small patches of hair are missing from under my chin and along my jawline. It looked like somebody glued little chunks of pubic hair on my neck and chin. However, as time went on, it began to become more legitimate. By the time I came to Chuuk, I could actually call it a beard. All of the pictures that I have posted on Facebook that you might have seen are from months 1-3 of growth. It was still in its beginning phases and was concentrated mainly on the neck. I don’t really have many pictures to prove it, but by the end of month four, it was a full-on beard. The growth had covered up the empty spots and I had a full face of hair. I plucked a hair from my chinny chin chin and approximated its length at well over and inch. I started getting food stuck in my mustache and licking it up later. Water would get caught in my beard and drip on my shirt as I stood up from the table. I could stroke my beard when I was in deep philosophical thought. My mustache even began to naturally curl upwards into a nice French looking curly Q.

I considered the possibility of growing my beard for the entire two years. I would return with a foot long bush of hair hanging from my face and look like I had been a homeless maniac for the last couple years. However, last week I cut it off. One reason is that a beard is not conducive to staying cool in these sauna-like conditions. The main reason was that I was I got a haircut. Once I cut my hair, then my beard was longer than my hair. That was too weird. The beard needed to go. Instead of entirely wiping it clean, I decided to leave some hair on my chin and mustache. So now I have one of those goatee/stache combos.

But do not fear, now I know that I can sort of actually grow a beard. I will let it grow for a few months before I come home. This way you can all see me with a rugged face that proves I have been living in a third world country for the last couple of years. It kind of seems like a standard travelers stereotype to return skinny, hairy and wise. I will see if I can keep up with these clichéd norms.